Valkyrie
by BlooAngels
Summary: Gibbs and Team-minus Ziva-race to stop a serial rapist and murderer. Can they catch him before he strikes again?
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

It had been a very long month, a rough one for the Team and for Gibbs. Tony was still recuperating from his dislocated shoulder; Ziva's desk sat empty, nothing Tim did was fast enough, and Gibbs was more of an unapproachable bastard than ever.

Bodies had started appearing on the Base and the Yard: children's bodies, children that nobody seemed to want to claim. Five girls, ranging from 11 to 15 years old, had been found: stripped nude, bound, gagged, heads shaved, and showing signs of savage, long-term abuse. Each had been strangled. Ducky's morgue was starting to look like a macabre junior-high school; even he had been found weeping over the remains. Abby had run every test she could think of, but the bodies had been carefully cleaned before disposal: no fingernail gunk; no traces of semen; no hair or blood that didn't belong to the victims. There was plenty of GHB, though, and everyone knew what that meant. It didn't matter that they couldn't identify the dead, at least not yet. They had to find the bastard, and stop him, in order to protect the living.

Tim arrived at the office early, clutching a coffee and his bag, and logged onto his computer, scowling. He had been running searches of police databases, hoping (was that the right way to put it?) that he could find a similar case elsewhere, and yet hoping he couldn't, because that would mean more bodies. He had sent emails out to the FBI, CID, CIA, and even Interpol, desperate for leads. Replies had come in overnight, as expected.

The reply from Fornell: "Thank God, No, but I'll keep my eyes and ears open. Catch the bastard, Tim, and shoot him once for me, too." Fornell had a daughter with one of Gibbs' ex-wives, and took special offense at crimes against children. He was a good man, Tim knew, and if they needed any backup for this case, Tim was confident they would get it. He found similar messages from the CIA and CID operatives that had answered: no, sorry, good luck, and kick the bastard's ass. No answer appeared from Interpol, but then, he had doubted they would. This was a Navy problem, after all.

MaGee looked away from the computer for a moment, and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. There had to be something they were missing, some clue or piece of forensic evidence to crack the case, but where? They had run the girls' stats through every missing child report in the country, and had come up empty. The girls themselves seemed to have nothing in common, except for the killer and manner of death. He sighed. "Dammit, Kate, I really miss you now."

"Odd thing to say, Probie, not that I don't feel the same way, sometimes." Tony had, as usual, managed to sneak up on him, a habit he had picked up from Gibbs. He delighted in it, one of the few pleasures he had now, especially with this case. It had them all on edge. For once, though, he seemed only curious. "What brought her to mind?"

MaGee leaned back in his chair, still scowling at his computer as Tony stashed his bag, gun, and badge. The sling Tony still wore on his left arm slowed him down, but he never complained about it.

"We need a profiler for this case, Tony," he mused dryly. "Kate was a damned good one. We haven't had one since Ari took her." Tim looked up at Tony, who was now standing over him. "Not even in Ziva."

Tony nodded grimly. Ziva had been a good investigator, a top-notch interrogator, and a kick-ass agent in the field, but she had no profiler training, and all of their skills combined did not even come close to Kate's natural expertise. "If Vance can't find us one in this office, maybe we can borrow one from Fornell," Tony offered. "We need an extra set of eyes on this case. I want to catch this monster, and soon."

"Be careful what you wish for, DiNozzo, you may get it." Gibbs had breezed into the office unnoticed, sucking on his usual coffee, his now-permanent scowl carving even deeper into his face. "Vance called me up to his office; seems we have a temporary addition to the team, whether we want one or not. I'm going up to meet Officer Frost right now. You boys make yourselves useful; I'll be right back."

Curious, Magee called out without thinking. "What agency, Boss?" Halfway up the stairs to Vance's office, Gibbs stopped, giving MaGee a curious look.

"Interpol."

Gibbs jogged up the stairs, nodded at Cynthia, and waited as she buzzed him inside. Walking in, he found the Director already deep in conversation with a very petite woman. Platinum hair fell just past her shoulders: natural color, he could spot it instantly, fitting perfectly with her round Scandinavian features. A bolero jacket covered a high-collared blouse; jeans clung to curvy hips. Her makeup, he thought, was a little thick, but the shoes on her feet were quite sensible, as was the gun at her hip. She appeared around 30.

"Agent Gibbs," said Director Vance, "meet Officer Brynja Frost, Interpol, Human Trafficking Division. Officer Frost, this is Senior Agent in Charge…"

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs," he spoke up, and offered his hand, "but my team just calls me Gibbs. What brings you to NCIS, Officer Frost?"

She stood, and took his hand: a firm grip, with nothing ladylike in it. His hand might have been a gun butt. Ice blue eyes met his, and he could almost feel his blood freezing up. He saw cold, hard anger deep down, and the determination of a hunter following blood.

"I received a forwarded email from my main office late last evening," a clipped, Nordic accent, "an ironic request for help from one of your agents; I believe his name is McGee," offered Frost.

Gibbs frowned, something he did a lot of lately. "Why is that ironic?"

Frost looked at him with those eyes again, and the anger came to the surface. "Because I have been tracking the men responsible for these crimes for nearly three years now. Because I have narrowed the field down to three Navy ships, and can proceed no further. Because I have been turned away by no less than three NCIS offices and your own State Department in my investigation. Because I have been sending every piece of paperwork imaginable, to every US Naval office imaginable, and have been ignored, while young women die. Ironic, because you only decided you needed our help, when the bodies finally surfaced on your own front lawn."

Vance spoke up at last. "I have the names and office locations here, Gibbs, and I'm launching a full investigation. Meanwhile, I'm making Officer Frost an official member of your team. Get her a desk, and have her read the rest of you in to the bulk of her investigation. She has evidence that Ducky and Abby will find interesting, I'm sure." Vance paused, not liking the hostility he already saw forming between Gibbs and Frost. "Are you two sure you can work together? I would hate to have time wasted figuring out a pecking order."

"That remains to be seen, Director," Frost snapped. "I am neither your subordinate, nor his. I am not normally a team player, and there is no proper chain of command here. This has been my investigation for three years now, and until this moment, I have been treated with nothing but disrespect and open hostility by your Navy. I don't want to have my work stolen, destroyed, or devalued by someone trying to save your Navy from more embarrassment."

Vance scowled at the sting; it was like a verbal slap. "Miss Frost…"

"OFFICER Frost, thank you," she growled.

"Officer Frost, while I appreciate all the help you have offered, we do not have time to quibble over who answers to whom. Can you work with Agent Gibbs, or not? If not…

"Three years?" Gibbs stared down into those ice blue eyes again, and felt his guts freezing up. "How many bodies?"

It was the right question. She softened up just a bit.

"42. Always in groups of seven," she added, eyes misting a little, "and never native to the places they are found."

"Joint operation. We share office space, transportation, lab results, everything. I have an empty desk you can use while you're here, if you like," Gibbs stepped closer, looking down into the stony, round face. "You retain your Interpol status and rank, and Director Vance will give you whatever clearance you need to work with NCIS equipment and systems. I'm not about to disrespect another officer's work or time in the field. Our mission is to take this bastard down: nothing more."

"And I answer to whom?" quipped Frost.

"We answer to each other, and each to our respective directors. Deal?" Gibbs stuck out his hand again. She paused for a fraction, and then took it.

"Deal."

"Great. Welcome to NCIS, Officer Frost. Now," Vance stuck a fresh toothpick in his mouth, "don't just stand there, people, get to work!"

Frost bent down, retrieving an old-fashioned duffel bag. "You mentioned a desk, Agent Gibbs?"

He nodded. "This way."

DiNozzo looked up at the sound of feet on the stairs, in time to see Gibbs leading a petite blond to the bullpen. _She can't be any taller than five foot two, if that,_ he mused. Clearing his throat to get McGee's attention, he motioned to the woman as she walked up. "Hey, Probie, looks like Interpol only sent us half an agent. You should be more careful of the emails you send," he shot across. McGee only scowled at him, and he earned the baleful look from Gibbs. The woman, for her part, turned ice-blue eyes onto his lanky form, and he could have sworn the temperature dropped 50 degrees. Gibbs looked ready to bark, he did a lot of that lately, but the blond held up a hand.

"Ignore the boy, Agent Gibbs. I have learned that such jokes usually come from males struggling with size issues of their own. His insecurities can be dealt with another time. If you don't mind, I would like to get right to work."

DiNozzo's jaw dropped open, but McGee looked delighted and Gibbs almost smiled. McGee sidled over to DiNozzo's desk and nudged him.

"Looks like they sent us the smart half, Tony. I think she'll do fine," he joked. Tony just glared at him, then turned back to watch Frost's figure, as she set her duffel onto what had been Ziva's desk, plugged in her laptop, and booted it up. When she was finished, Gibbs made the introductions.

"Officer Brynja Frost, from Interpol's Human Trafficking Division, this is my senior field agent, Anthony DiNozzo, and my computer and technology expert, Agent Timothy McGee. Yes," he commented before she could ask, "the one who emailed your office. Gentlemen: we may have an international serial killer on our hands. Officer Frost has been tracking the bastard for three years now, and so far has been stymied by a combination of politics and red tape."

DiNozzo coughed, blinking hard. "Three years, Boss?" The leer he had been turning towards Frost died on his face. "My god, how many?"

Frost looked up; DiNozzo stood a full foot taller than she did, but she knew how to freeze with her eyes, and did so. DiNozzo found himself taking one step backward, away from those eyes, before stopping himself. Anthony DiNozzo was not about to be intimidated by any woman, no matter how Valkarie she might be; he steeled himself.

"The official count was 42 when I left Lyon a month ago. It might actually be higher than that, but we do not really know," began Frost. She accepted the remote from McGee, and a world map appeared on the big screen. Red dots lit up. "These are crime scenes I have visited in the last three years; you will notice they correspond with authorized Navy ports of call." She pushed a button, and one dot flashed in northern Germany. Another button: and pictures of seven dead women appeared on the screen. "Three years ago, all of these women's bodies were recovered along the coast of northern Germany; none of them belonged to the area. At least two were Scandinavian, four were Russian, and one was from the Czechan Republic. All were brutally raped, bound, and strangled." She clicked the controller again, and another set of seven faces appeared. "College students, mostly, from…"

"Let me guess, northern Germany?" quipped McGee, clearing his throat. "Where were they found?"

Frost looked at McGee for a second, then nodded. "Very astute. The second batch was indeed from northern Germany. We identified most of these young ladies. They were found in Saudi Arabia, just south of the Suez Canal."

DiNozzo's face was robotlike. "He's refreshing his collection, then. When he finishes with one set, he discards it and gets another."

Frost nodded again, avoiding DiNozzo's face for the screen. "I believe you are correct. Notice the changes between sets four (click), five (click), and six (click). Do you see the progression?"

DiNozzo's cursed; his voice was harsh. "The girls keep getting younger. And you think this piece of filth is on one of our ships?"

Frost looked up at all three men. "No, gentlemen. I don't believe _one_ man is responsible. I believe that there are at least three men, possibly more. Human trafficking on this scale is usually tied to organized crime; showing a lot of profit, though not as much as, say, drugs or weapons, since the criminals are 'only' dealing in humans as toys. There may be officers involved as well, in order to maintain this kind of cover-up."

DiNozzo leveled his green eyes into the blue. "What can you prove so far?"

Frost looked up, and sighed. "Nothing with certainty. But on at least seven occasions, we found semen trace inside of a victim. From the amount we found it appears a condom leaked. DNA analysis proved three different individuals, but I was prevented from cross-analysis with your DNA databanks by some of your colleagues in Europe. I have my analysis on file here," she patted a file folder, "and backed up on another data port as well, to avoid….accidents. Furthermore, there is the simple math involved. Seven women take a lot of handling. They were not starved into submission. While they were abused, they ate regularly. They also received some form of medical attention. Some victims' blood work showed recent inoculations; a few showed healing sprains; at least twenty showed chemical treatment for hair and body lice. Many had received antibiotics. Three of the more recent victims" (click) "had fresh tattoos. Many of our corpses, especially in the last year, had large amounts of GHB in their blood. Some had alcohol. Some had both. I cannot believe, Agent DiNozzo, that one sailor is capable of doing that much harm at once, and still report for duty."

Gibbs stroked his chin with one hand, while he kept the other folded across his chest. He stood at parade rest, otherwise. "You still haven't mentioned what leads you to believe there is US Naval involvement."

Frost glanced up at Gibbs, and nodded. "The ports of call, for one thing. There is no record of any of these women crossing an international border or going through an airport checkpoint. That would indicate smuggling of some sort, perhaps by water, since they were all found in coastal areas. Plus, there is the timing."

The control clicked again, this time showing three US Navy vessels: an aircraft carrier and two frigates.

"This is something else the sites have in common. Whenever the bodies show up, at least two of these three ships are in port. Sometimes the group is anchored just off the coast. At any rate, when these put in, and the men start their R&R, the bodies start appearing. Same patterns every time: law enforcement is being taunted across the globe. I've been told that it is my imagination, I've been told it is just coincidence, but I cannot believe…"

Gibbs raised a hand, and she stopped. "I don't believe in coincidence either, Officer Frost. Do you have anything further, before we visit our morgue and lab?"

She nodded, and her eyes met his. "Just one question, Agent Gibbs. Where is this squadron right now?"

Gibbs scowled at the screen, and moved closer to view the names and call numbers. Behind him, McGee cleared his throat.

"Boss, uh…"

"Spit it out, McGee."

"This squadron has been in port for just under one month. They're set to sail in three days."

Gibbs stared at the units on the big screen: one aircraft carrier, and two smaller frigates flanking it. Over 5,000 men and women between them, and he had to search for three unknown people. His thoughts flew to the junior high school in Ducky's morgue, and the high school and college age girls in Frost's files.

"The hell they are. DiNozzo, make the calls."

"On it, Boss."

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

Gibbs left the bullpen for Autopsy, saying he needed to confer with Ducky, and would meet Frost downstairs. Frost continued to unpack her duffel and set up her desk, while DiNozzo called the Naval Port Authority. McGee, typing furiously on his computer, kept stealing glances over the top of it at Frost as she worked, until she finished and turned towards him.

"Is there something I can do for you, Agent McGee? You seem overly distracted," she offered.

Starting at being called out so quickly, McGee cleared his throat nervously.

"No, it's just that, ah, it's a little strange to see someone else at that desk. Our last co-worker held it for about four years, and only vacated it a month ago. We were rather close as a team. Oh, by the way, your shield and gun need to be kept in a desk drawer while you're in the office. It's one of the safety rules," he offered.

Frost nodded, removed her badge and gun, checked to make sure the safety was on, and stowed them in her top drawer. "The rule makes sense. We have a similar custom at Interpol's main office. It prevents accidental shootings. Anything else?" She glanced quickly at Tony, who was still on the phone, and then back to McGee. "Are you comfortable with a woman filling this post, for example?"

DiNozzo covered the phone's mouthpiece with his hand, and glanced over at Frost. "My last partner was a woman. That isn't an issue here. McCurious here is just trying to get to know you a little; he isn't comfortable with strangers," Tony clipped, then went back to talking on the phone. Both McGee and Frost could hear the words: "lockdown", "immediate", and "call them back".

Frost nodded at McGee. "Fair enough, since we are going to work together. I am originally from Iceland, am an only child of an Icelandic mother and an American father, and I'm fluent in Icelandic, German, English, and Scots-Gaelic, in that order. I went to school in Reykjavik, and transferred to Glasgow University. I have a Master's degree in Criminal Psychology. I have never married, have no children, and am not currently dating. I sing soprano. Will that do?"

McGee blinked in surprise. "Iceland? Is your last name…"

She regarded him cooly. "Yes, it is a translation. Most Anglos can't properly pronounce my native surname, so I make things easier going by its Anglicized version. It saves time and stammering. Now, could you provide me with a schematic of the building, so I can find my way around? I need to get down to your autopsy, and catalogue the latest victims."

McGee stood. "I can do better than that: I'll take you downstairs. Autopsy is in the basement, and Forensics is the next level up. I don't think your retinal eye print is in the scanner yet; you'll need another agent with you to use the elevator until you do." McGee stepped around his desk, passing by Frost's on the way to the elevator. He felt something brush past him, but did not turn around until he had reached the elevator and scanned himself in. When he did turn, Frost was not at his elbow, as expected. In fact, she was nowhere to be seen!

Puzzled, he walked back towards her desk. It was empty. He glanced over at Tony, who was staring at the emergency stairs door, eyebrows high. Tim pointed at Frost's desk, and then at the slowly closing door, and gave Tony his best "What's going on?" look. Tony merely shrugged, finished his phone call, and stood up.

"That was weird," said Tim. "What do you think that was about?"

Tony frowned thoughtfully. "She took one look at the elevator, had a small spasm, and hit the stairs." He looked down at her desk; the manila evidence folder was gone. "At least she had presence of mind to grab her evidence files before she bolted. Come on," he offered, "I'll go down to autopsy with you. I'm going to need to see this, anyway."

The two of them stepped into the elevator, and Tony hit the 'B' for basement. "Maybe she's claustrophobic," offered Tim. Tony just shrugged.

"I guess we'll find out one way or another," he said. The elevator took them down. "But if it gets in the way, the Boss is going to be pissed."

Moments later, DiNozzo and McGee stepped out of the elevator and into Ducky's lab. They found Gibbs already there with Officer Frost, examining one of the small corpses Ducky had pulled out of refrigeration. A sheet covered most of the child's body; only her head and shoulders were exposed.

Frost bent over the dead child's small face, and passed a hand across the top of her shaved head. The men stood quietly, not wanting to disturb the officer; when she finally stood her eyes were moist and her voice husky.

"You did not shave her head, then, Doctor?" she asked, continuing to stroke the bare scalp. "By the feel here, it was done at least one week before her death."

"You are correct, my dear, I did not. And I concur with your timeline on the shaving. There are no marks or nicks from any cutting implements, and her hair had already started to grow out when she was killed," Ducky offered. "Our other victims were likewise shaven. Is this something you have seen in your other victims?"

Frost nodded. "It is, but only in the last two sets. I have yet to figure out why; it might be important." She sighed and rubbed her head. "The men doing this didn't bother to shave adults, only juveniles, and then only juveniles of color. I notice this child looks at least part African, or perhaps Middle Eastern." She paused, then looked up at Ducky. "May I see her feet, please?"

"Of course," Ducky offered, and he gently pulled back the sheet from the child's feet. Frost ran a finger down the callused soles, and traced the chipped and discolored toenails. "Fungal infection here, and a great deal of damage and hardening to her soles. She went barefoot a lot in her life, perhaps by necessity."

"Homeless, or an orphan, perhaps," offered Tony. "I've seen the pictures. Shoes are sometimes a luxury most children do without."

"Very good, Anthony," intoned Ducky. "Her bloodwork was interesting as well. This one and a few of the others show signs of malnutrition, only recently corrected: Koishoiker, caused by a lack of protein in the diet. She ate better in the last six months or so of her life, than she had while she was free."

"Which might indicate that she was picked up or lured by humanitarian-sounding promises, instead of force," offered McGee.

"A humanitarian rapist is still a rapist, McGee," snapped Gibbs. "This monster, or monsters, original means were just a cloak to disguise his real intent: to rape and kill. Never forget that. Compassion can be a disguise, too."

"An excellent point from both of you," noted Frost, still stroking the child's head. "Knowing the collector's MO, or something of it, may help us identify him later. Plus, since I suspect a layer of suspects, the original collector may not know the exact ending of his victims. He may actually be acting under an assumption of humanitarian aid, or simply romance, in the cases of the older women. Oh, thank you, Doctor, you can put her back to bed. I'll need copies of all of your observations for my records, of course."

"Naturally, my dear. Come now, child, let's get you tucked back in." Ducky steered the table back towards the refrigerator, and Palmer stepped up to help him put the body away.

"Autopsy next?" Gibbs asked Frost. "You said you had evidence our lab would find interesting."

"Yes," murmured Frost, staring at the disappearing head of the dead child. "Now, why is he shaving their heads?" she murmured, to no one but herself, but Gibbs caught the remark. He stopped as well, and looked back into the autopsy room, and thought.

"When I joined the Marines, one of the first things they did to me in processing was shave my head," he offered. "It keeps lice and flea problems to a minimum, and serves to make us all…the same."

Frost looked up at him. "It destroyed your individuality, made you part of a unit."

"Yes. That might be part of it," Gibbs mused. "It might also be a simpler way to handle colored children's hair. Plus, if these girls are being held on a Navy ship, having children's hair suddenly 'turn up' is going to get attention. We should mention this to Abby," he offered, "my forensics expert. Come on," he said, and stepped to the elevator, but when he turned back to talk she was already gone. Only DiNozzo stood there, and his face was troubled.

"DiNozzo, what the hell is going on?" Gibbs demanded. "Are you pulling some sort of snipe hunt with her, just because she's new around here? She isn't even a member of the team!"

DiNozzo spread his hands. "Don't look at me, Boss. McGee and I were set to bring her down by elevator, and even had the door open. She took the stairs on her own. She's doing it again now. McTherapist thinks she might be claustrophobic, so he's following her on the stairs right now to talk to her."

Gibbs glared at the closing stairwell door for a moment. "This isn't claustrophobia. The stairwell is narrower than the elevator. It's something else. Keep your ears open, DiNozzo, and keep me posted.

"Will do, Boss. What next?"

"I'm going to the lab. You get back upstairs, and utilize some of your other talents," Gibbs ordered thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing.

"My other talents, Boss? Which ones in particular?" DiNozzo could guess, but he wanted to hear Gibbs actually give the order, and his grin widened.

"You have an enquiring mind, DiNozzo. Use it! Find out what you can about our visiting Interpol officer," Gibbs ordered.

DiNozzo's grin widened to a leer. "On it, Boss!"

Frost stepped out of the stairwell, half-supporting McGee, who clutched his stomach and gasped for air. Looking around, she saw no-one, and heard only music blasting. She stepped forward and yelled:

"HELLO! IS ANYBODY HERE? WE NEED SOME HELP, PLEASE!"

The music cut off, and Abby quickly jogged around a corner, pigtails bouncing. "What is it…MCGEE! Ohmygod, what happened to McGee?" Abby pounced to the side not receiving assistance, and started probing his stomach. "Are you cut, or stabbed, or something? I don't see any blood. Do you want me to call Ducky?"

McGee gasped for air, and waved off Abby's probing hands. "I'm find, Abby, just got the wind knocked out of me, that's all. Nothing broken."

"I sincerely apologize, Agent McGee. I really did not know you were there." offered Frost. "In the future, please don't sneak up on me like that. I am more than a little, how do you say it? Jumpy."

McGee nodded, and the trio walked into Abby's lab. Frost set her folder down on Abby's countertop, and McGee grabbed a chair. Motioning to the two women, McGee made the introductions.

"Abby, this is Officer Brynja Frost, from Interpol's Human Trafficking Division. She's here to help us with our case. Officer Frost, this is Agent Abby Sciuto, our forensics and firearms expert. We just came up from Autopsy, Abby, and this case is worse than we imagined. There's probably more than one perp, and there have been a lot of more bodies." He stood up, still limping a little, and headed for the door. "I'll let you two ladies get acquainted. I need to visit the men's room."

Abby watched McGee leave, and then turned furiously on Frost.

"What the hell did you hit him for? McGee is one of the sweetest guys in the office," she demanded. "I can't believe you thought he would hurt you!"

Frost spread her hands. "I never even knew he was in the stairwell, Agent Sciuto! If he spoke, I never heard him. One second I thought I was alone, and the next, someone grabbed me by the arm. It was quite sudden. I struck him in the solar plexus to make him release me, and only then realized who it was." She shook her head, and swallowed once. "I have had to work this case, alone, for the past three years. I have not had people around me I could trust, and sometimes," she took a deep breath, "things have gotten rough. Whoever is doing this may have identified me. I have to be very careful."

Abby's face puckered. "You were attacked? Does Gibbs know?"

Frost shook her head. "No, I did not discuss that in my initial read-in; I did not think it relevant. I believe the assaults were intended to frighten me away from the investigation, nothing more. They did not succeed. I will not stop until the men responsible for these crimes are brought to justice. When that day comes," a distant look appeared on her face, "I'm going home for a while. I'll take the time then."

Abby nodded. "I can understand that. So, you have some evidence, and I have my own little platoon of computers. What have you got?"

Frost opened her folder.

DiNozzo looked around the bullpen, and saw that everybody else was bent over his or her desk. He had intended to snoop into Frost's effects at the first possible opportunity, that's what he did anyway, but it was interesting to have the license to do it from Gibbs. He started rifling through her desk, but found it still empty, even spartan.

_No chance yet to accumulate crap in her drawers_, he told himself. _She's only been here an hour._ Finding her purse, he sat down at her desk and started pulling out the contents. _Let me see: hairbrush, makeup, restaurant receipts-that's useful, Swiss Army knife-Gibbs will approve, PDA-now that's more like it, DiNozzo! _He activated the device, and found pages of notes, many with dates and times, but _Crap. It's all in Icelandic. Shoulda thought of that one, Tony._

A loud **THUD **snapped him out of his reverie, making him jump. DiNozzo looked up to see the Director's hand on a file folder, and the Director glaring down at him, toothpick in place. Tony's eyes widened; he was SO busted!

"Looking for this, DiNozzo?" Vance growled around the toothpick, his eyes steady. Tony gulped.

"I can explain, Director," he began, but Vance cut him off.

"Don't bother, DiNozzo. I know exactly what you're doing. I work here too, remember? Just sit at your own desk and read." He stood up, and Tony could see the older man was concerned. "You watch yourself around that little spitfire, understand? She's been working this case alone for three years now, without any help from us. Six months ago our office in Turkey offered her a bodyguard, which she accepted, but the day she left the country he was found dead. Stabbed."

DiNozzo had already moved to his desk and started rifling through the paperwork, but at the mention of the stabbing, his head snapped up.

"Was his body found in an elevator?"

Vance's eyes narrowed. "Yes." His hands flipped through volumes of paperwork to find the date. "Here, in a report from our Izmir office. He had been stabbed in the neck with a pencil. Why do you ask about the elevator?"

DiNozzo looked up. "She won't use one. She actually looked afraid to get into it. McGee thought she was claustrophobic, but Gibbs thinks not."

Vance 'hmmmmed' around his toothpick, and read more of the report, and looked up at the big screen, where the battle group still floated. "Six months ago that group was in Izmir, and so was she. Our office assigned her a marine for protection, Izmir's a tough town, and supposedly she vanished without communicating with our office there. They assumed she had dropped the case, and without evidence, so did they. The battle group pulled out of port a week later." He flipped through pages. "The marine's body was found a day after she vanished, in a hotel service elevator. Multiple stab wounds, contusions, and blond hair wrapped in his hands." Vance looked down at DiNozzo. "What does that tell you?"

Tony read swiftly through the report. "Looks like he attacked her. It would fit: why she hates us so much, and why she won't get in an elevator. Yes, it says here his belt was undone. The bastard! No wonder she's so cold."

Vance nodded. "It's going to take a lot to earn her trust back, DiNozzo. Do you think you can turn off the frat-boy side of your personality?"

Tony looked up. "Consider it done." He stood up. "I need to go tell Gibbs right away. You know about him and sneaking up on people."

Vance nodded. Tony headed for the elevator.


	3. Chapter 3

Gibbs, fresh coffee in hand, walked down the hallway towards Abby's lab. Normally, visiting Abby had been one of the bright points of his day, but lately…He knew he was being too rough on his staff, he knew it wasn't fair, but he was afraid that if they lost their focus, the perp would get away again. _Just like with Shannon and Kelly,_ he thought to himself, _and that one cost too damn much. We can't let this bastard get away, especially not on some technicality._ Engrossed in his thoughts, he nearly ran into McGee stepping out of the men's room, and only the delicate balance and expert grip saved his coffee from hitting the floor. A retort formed on his lips, but died when he saw McGee's flushed face.

"You all right, McGee? You look like you've been sucker-punched," Gibbs added.

McGee's eyebrows went up, and one hand went to his stomach. "I was, by Frost in the stairwell." He saw the angry flare in his boss's eyes, and held up a hand. "My fault, Boss. I came up from behind her, and when she didn't respond to my voice I grabbed her arm. Scared the hell out of her, too, I think. She hit me really fast, and then when she saw who I was, helped me through the door. We've already apologized to each other, but beyond that I haven't had a chance to talk to her." McGee took a breath. "She's really jumpy, Boss. I know you like to sneak up on us, to make sure we're on our toes, but you might not want to do that with Frost." He held up his hands "Just a suggestion."

Gibbs scowled. "I can't have her running around slugging my people, though. I'll talk to her. In the meantime, you get back upstairs and find out the timelines and ports of call for that battle group for, say, the last five years. Start digging, and see if there were any other similar crimes. Look up changes in personnel, too, from the galley to the captains: all of it." McGee started off, but Gibbs called him back. "Oh, and requisition a cell phone for Frost. We need to be able to keep in touch."

McGee nodded, "On it, Boss," and disappeared.

Walking into Abby's lab, Gibbs was amazed at the quiet. Abby normally turned her music down or off when she had visitors, and today was no exception. Looking across the room, he spotted Abby and Frost staring at some information on her computer screen. Another computer screen showed several DNA profiles, and CoDIS running through various files, looking for a match. Abby seemed engrossed with a pale filament of some sort; she and Frost were deep in conversation about it.

"So, where exactly did you find this?" Abby asked, carefully placing it under a microscope and adjusting the focus.

"On Victim #5 in Izmir, six months ago," offered Frost. "It was wrapped in her fingers. I originally thought it was hair, but the cross section doesn't look organic at all. My next guess was some sort of fishing line or thread."

Abby frowned. "No, not fishing line. It isn't strong enough for that. Looks like," she paused, "some sort of nylon, so not sewing thread either. Maybe"

"A wig," offered Gibbs, stepping across the threshold into the lab. "And by the looks, a blond wig. That would explain why the kids' heads were shaved: to make fitting a wig a little easier."

Frost looked up at him, and nodded. "I concur. Some of the earliest victims, the adults, had blond hair. Others showed signs of recent bleaching. Our perpetrator prefers blonds." She looked at the screen again, and a shadow passed over her face. "Something else to remember."

"Frost, can I have a word with you?" Gibbs leveled his gaze down into her ice-blue eyes. "Preferably in private?"

"Concerning what, Agent Gibbs?" Frost's eyes became wary again.

"You slugging my computer tech in the stairwell," he growled. "This case has us all on edge, but I can't have you hitting my agents without cause. Furthermore, I want to know why you won't use a perfectly good elevator. You've avoided them twice since entering the building."

Frost's eyes hardened again. "Agent McGee grabbed me from behind. I had no idea he was even there, so I struck out to free myself from a possible assailant. I hit him exactly one time, and not lethally. If he finds himself disabled by a smaller female's punch, then I suggest you get him into a gym." She stiffened, glaring into Gibb's face. "If you want to compare notes on stress, I might point out that, while your team has been investigating this case for three weeks, I have been investigating it for three years: ALONE. I have had limited access to forensics or trained medical examiners, and no personal backup." She took a breath. "What happened in the stairwell to Agent McGee is regrettable, and we have both apologized to each other. It was a professional gaffe, nothing more."

"Like the elevator incident in Izmir, Officer Frost?" DiNozzo stepped into the room, holding a handful of papers. "Sorry I took so long, Boss. These just came up from our European counterparts," he handed the papers to Gibbs, who took out his glasses, put them on and started reading. "It seems you did have some backup there, but he ended up dead one hallway away from where you were staying. Was killing him a professional gaffe, or just a desperate act to get away from an assailant?"

Frost's face drained of color. "Neither," she snapped. "I did not kill that man. You are correct in calling him an assailant. However, I left him unconscious in the elevator, not dead." She took a deep breath, and looked away from both men's eyes. "He was escorting me to my car, and supposedly the main elevator was broken, so we had to use the service unit. Once inside, he threw the emergency brake and turned on me. He said he was just delivering a message, and not to take it personally." Her voice bitter, Frost averted her eyes and shivered.

"Did he rape you?" Gibbs' voice was suddenly gentle; so was the hand on her shoulder.

"No," she opened her eyes, looking up into Gibbs' face, and behind his, DiNozzo's and Sciuto's. The concern on their faces was real. "No, he didn't. He DIDN'T. He tried, but I hit him, and" she took a deep breath, "I got away from him. I excel in several self-defense techniques. I managed to get the elevator moving again, so I went back to my room, grabbed my gear, and ran for the nearest transport. He was lying in the elevator when I left, very much alive." She shuddered at the memory. "I was not thinking clearly; all I wanted to do was get out of Izmir. I did not think I could trust your office anymore; they had supplied my attacker as a 'bodyguard'. I dared not trust the ship's captain or the officers; I suspected them. I ran to my own agency, and they extracted me."

"That was six months ago?" asked DiNozzo, eyeing her carefully.

"Yes. I caught a transport straight to Lyon. From there, I have been trying to get through to your State Department, your office here, anybody. I could not make anyone listen." She caught Gibbs' eyes again. "Someone, or some _group_, has been impeding this investigation. I do not know why, or who. It might be someone at my own office. That is why I backed up every piece of evidence I have, in triplicate, just in case something 'happened' to the originals. And from what I've seen in your morgue, the perpetrators are getting even more careful. None of the previous bodies was ever that clean. That abused, but never that clean."

Abby inhaled sharply. "The soap. There might be soap residue on the skin, maybe even minerals from whatever water was used to scrub them. If I can analyze it, maybe I can identify it. It might be something common only to Navy vessels. It would at least prove they were on board the ship."

Gibbs looked at Abby, and nodded. "That's great, Abbs. Confer with Ducky; he and Palmer can help you."

Abby placed the manila folder in the safe, and spun the lock. "I can leave the computer running the CoDIS file, so long as we lock up when we leave. Hopefully I'll have results when I get back." She grabbed her phone, punched the speed dial, and started talking to Ducky.

"I should join the forensics team in autopsy," offered Frost. "There are a lot of bodies to process, and I have the necessary training." Gibbs raised an eyebrow, and she returned the look. "I have processed many such cases, Agent Gibbs. Often I had to do my own autopsies: even my own forensics. I am trained in multiple fields, not just investigation and self defense."

DiNozzo stepped up, to stand beside Gibbs. He peered into Frost's face. "Have you seen a counselor since you were attacked?"

She shook her head. "My supervisor desired that, even tried to make it mandatory, but I insisted on returning to work. My injuries were relatively minor, nothing that I could not handle, and the adolescents being taken are subjected to worse. I had to think of them."

"You need to take care of yourself, too, Frost," DiNozzo said sternly. "These assaults are affecting your work, and you know it."

Gibbs had started to turn towards the door, but at this he turned back. "Assaults? What are you talking about, DiNozzo?"

"Look at her face, Boss," Tony said evenly, his eyes never leaving Frost, "where her makeup is the heaviest: cheeks, lips, around the eyes and on her neck." He took a step forward. "You did a nice job covering up the bruises; I doubt a regular person would have noticed. Those marks aren't six months old, more like two weeks. Who did this? And where?" He reached for her face, gently, but Frost slapped his hand away. She was shaking, whether from anger or fear he couldn't tell.

"Another office, another elevator, what does it matter?" Gibbs stepped back, and started to glare at her again. She met his eyes, but the ice in hers was gone. "Here in DC. I was in the Federal Building housing your FBI. A young officer named Fornell shared the elevator with me to the parking garage. He stopped it halfway down." The color returned to her face, and with it, the ice to her eyes. "This assault was not sexual; he was just trying to make a point. He said 'Play it smart, Sykurhjupa, and get off the field. You're out of your league.' We traded blows; I gave him a black eye and broke his nose, and he gave me these." She motioned to her face.

Gibbs was clearly getting pissed off. "Is there anything else you need to tell us? The perpetrators have made you: your presence in the field might jeopardize the safety of my crew. And now you want to tell me the FBI is covering up for these bastards? I know Fornell: he would never put up with such a thing."

"I'm not making this up, Agent Gibbs! 'Fornell' was the name on his ID badge." The anger jumped back into her eyes. "I suspected you would not believe me, and did not want to play on your sympathies. That is why I kept quiet. The only thing important is the case," she snapped.

Abby hung up the phone, and walked over. "Frost, if you don't feel you can trust us, we can't work together. I know it's hard, but you have got to start somewhere. Can you identify this creep if you see him again?"

Frost took a breath. "Yes. I can draw you a picture, if you like."

Abby went to her desk, pulled out a sketchpad and pencil, and handed them to Frost. "Get started. I'm heading up to Autopsy. Gibbs?" she paused at the door.

Gibbs started. "Yeah, Abbs?"

"Don't you have a phone call to make?" She signed "F.B.I" to him.

He nodded. "Right. DiNozzo?"

Tony looked up. "I'll stay here with Frost. There's something else I want to ask her." Gibbs nodded, and left.

Tony watched Frost's hands as the pencil flew across the paper. A face gradually grew out of nothingness: young, with thick dark hair, a pointy nose, and sideburns. A weak chin sharpened to another point, and ears poked their way through his hair.

"About how tall was he?" prompted DiNozzo, "and about how old?"

Frost frowned. "He was just under two meters tall," she looked up at him, "in English, I would say approximately five feet eight inches. He was shorter than you, taller than me. I would put his age at twenty five; a little young for an agent, I think."

"This is very good," commented DiNozzo. "Were you ever an art major?"

"No," she replied. "My first major was psychology, with an emphasis in family studies. I had originally planned on being a counselor. I changed to criminal psychology in my senior year."

"What happened?" He looked at her curiously. She glanced up at him for a second, then returned to the sketch.

"My roommate was gang-raped at a fraternity party. She tried to press charges, but they bullied her into keeping silent. She eventually killed herself; the humiliation was too much, and the college wouldn't help." Frost stiffened, angry at the memory. "I proved they did it, and they eventually went to prison for it, most of them anyway. The head of the psychology department convinced me to change my major to criminal psychology. From there, I went in to law enforcement. I still call it my first case. I just wish that…"

"That you could have helped your friend stay alive?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry for your friend."

"Thank you." She added a few more details: a black left eye and some extra angles on his nose, to make it appear broken. Tony watched silently for a few minutes, then spoke again.

"What does 'sykurhjupa' mean?"

Frost looked up, surprised. "What?"

DiNozzo stared into her eyes again. "You said he called you 'sykurhjupa'. What does it mean?"

Frost blinked. "It's my surname in Icelandic." She took a breath. "He knew my real name. I haven't used it in more than three years, except when I call home to talk to Mother. I've been 'Frost' since transferring to Lyon." She looked down at the completed picture. "This was a clue, and I missed it. How did he know what to call me? He even said it right, no stammering."

"That's a long way to say 'frost'," offered DiNozzo. "How many ways are there to say 'frost' in Icelandic?"

Frost paused for a minute, and looked away, thinking. "About seven, I think. We have different forms depending on the appearance of the frost. Mine translates roughly into 'the blanket of sugar that appears when fog freezes'. Plain 'frost' is much faster, and gets the point across."

Tony peered at the picture. "This is him? This is the guy that attacked you at the FBI? He looks like a pencil pusher to me. He's definitely not the Fornell we know." He took the pad from Frost, and stepped back. "You know, we have that kind of frost around here, too. We call it hoarfrost."

Her eyes snapped up, suddenly cold again. "I have heard that name before, usually from people who want me to be the whore, and not the frost. It seems to be quite the joke among law enforcement for some reason. That is another reason I dropped my Icelandic name. I only use it when I am home; never on the job."

Tony sighed. "I didn't mean it that way. This 'hoar' is spelled H-O-A-R, and it just means 'white'. We should get upstairs. If I know Gibbs, and I do, he's calling the real agent Fornell into our office. With luck, he'll be here by lunchtime. He needs to know his agency has been infiltrated. Do you want to take the stairs, or try the elevator?"

Doubt crept into her eyes. "I haven't been in an elevator in almost a month, Agent DiNozzo. I do not know if I can keep from throwing up. It had better be the stairs."

DiNozzo looked at her, then reached behind himself and pulled something out of his belt. "I thought you might feel that way, so I brought you this out of your desk." He pressed her sidearm into her hands. "I'll sit on the floor, unarmed. You can have your gun, and remain standing. We'll be in the elevator for about 90 seconds. It's much faster than running up four flights of stairs," he added.

Frost blinked, surprised. "This might actually work, Agent DiNozzo. For 90 seconds, I can at least try."

"Tony."

She looked up. "What?"

"My name is Tony." He stuck his hand out.

She took it. "Brynja."

"Brynja." He nodded. "So, your last name actually means 'sugar blanket'?" He sounded amused.

She glared up at him. "Yes. Don't get your hopes up, either." She paused. "From the sound of it, I would guess your last name means 'nosey'. Is that correct?"

"Close enough."

"So, how much of my desk did you go through, Nosey?"

He grinned. "All of it, but I got the important stuff from Vance. He thought we needed to know." They reached the elevator, and Tony scanned them in. A slight *click* sounded behind him as he walked in and sat down. Looking up, he saw Brynja adjusting the safety on her gun.

"Safety off?"

"Safety off."

"Level three."

Brynja pushed the button, and the elevator doors closed. They started to move.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

The elevator doors opened, and Officer Frost stepped out, followed closely by Tony. Quickly flipping the safety on her gun, Frost stowed it back in her desk and sat down at her computer. Tony reached his desk, booted up his computer, and started typing. McGee, noticing their arrival, left his desk and approached Frost's, placing a box on her desk.

"The boss asked me to requisition a cell phone for you, so we can keep in touch with each other as long as you're here. I took the liberty of programming it with our speed-dial numbers, in case you need to reach us in a hurry," McGee added. "I realize you may already have one, but this way we're all on the same network."

"Thank you, Agent McGee." She poked around in the box, finding an instruction booklet but nothing else. "Is there a charger? I don't believe my other one is compatible."

McGee frowned. "That's odd. There usually is one in the box. Here," he pulled one out of his desk, "You can use mine for the time being. I have spares at home, and mine is fully charged."

"Thank you, Agent McGee." Frost plugged the unit in, and turned back to her computer. Pulling up a photograph from her victim's file, she started changing the dead girl's appearance. Soon she was scowling at the screen, and doing the same exercise with other photographs. The lines between her eyes grew deeper, and she twisted some of her hair.

McGee turned away from Frost's desk, and stopped at Tony's. He glanced up.

"Yeah, Probie? What's on your mind?"

McGee kept his voice low. "The Boss told me what happened. How did you get her into the elevator?"

"A little applied psychology, Probie: I gave her a weapon and sat on the floor. She was in the position of power: that helped. How's your stomach?"

"Fine." McGee glanced at Tony's screen. "What are you working on, big guy? Looks like some sort of identification program."

Tony leaned back. "Yes." He hesitated, glancing over at Brynja, then turned to McGee again. "If you wanted to search for the original identity of someone who has changed her name, how would you do it?"

McGee frowned. "It depends on the legality and permanence of the change. If it's just everyday usage, check her id. The original will be there. If it has been changed legally, you need to know something about the subject, and then you can do an extended background check. They aren't difficult, or expensive. Why?"

Tony scowled. "Brynja was attacked a few weeks ago at FBI headquarters, and the attacker used her original name. He even said it right. She didn't know him, so he learned it somewhere else." He scratched his chin. "She was made, Probie. So far they've been content to try and scare her off, but it hasn't worked."

"Maybe that isn't the real intent. It could be a perverse type of reverse psychology." McGee pulled up a chair. "Think about it, Tony. If somebody told YOU to stay away from a case, would it work? Especially if they slapped you around a few times? You're a LEO, would it work?"

"Hell, no! I would want to get the bastard all the more." Comprehension dawned on Tony's face. "She's being played by the perpetrator. He isn't trying to scare her off; he's trying to lure her in."

He bent over his computer again, this time pulling up case specifications from Frost's file. "Brynja, do you have any profiler training?"

She looked across the hallway at the two men bent over Tony's desk. "Yes, some. I majored in psychology before switching to law enforcement. Why?"

Tony looked at her. "Why would a rapist switch repeatedly to younger targets? The original trafficking almost 'makes sense', we could say. They were adult women. But in the last 18 months or more, the bastard has been grabbing younger and younger women, and now children. Pedophilia is a different class of sexual assault. Why switch?"

Brynja frowned, and sat back. "There could be any number of reasons: boredom, for example. Luring adults might not have the same appeal as stealing a youngster. He might receive more of a thrill from hiding children than hiding an adult. He might be motivated by revenge, especially on a younger female from his past. We already know he hates women and girls. Perhaps there is one in particular he has in mind. He could be acting out some sort of revenge fantasy: capturing his target, establishing mastery, and finally"

"Killing her," Tony finished the thought. "That would explain why the girls aren't sold as slaves. They're being kept for private use. Group only, probably with one alpha male leading the pack. What happens when he gets bored with younger adolescents?"

Brynja looked troubled. "He goes for more difficult prey. This sick bastard is all about the hunt. He is not interested in keeping his targets, only in conquering them. Once he's done that, they're disposable." She put her fist to her mouth, and bit a finger, staring at her screen.

"What kind of sicko thinks stealing children is a skill?" demanded McGee.

Tony looked up at him. "You aren't thinking like a predator, Probie. Predators weed out the sick, the weak, and the old. They think they're doing society a favor, having a good time doing it, and sticking it to the man at the same time. Only the alpha male might have an ulterior motive."

"And what might that be?" asked McGee.

"This," said Brynja hoarsely, transferring the contents of her screen to the large projector.

Fourteen faces filled the screen, each one scrubbed of color and injury, and with the same platinum hair reaching her shoulders. Tim's jaw dropped open, and Tony moved over to Brynja's desk.

"More difficult prey. He's setting you up, Brynja. We have to move you to…"

"No," she said insistently, "I am not entering protective custody." She looked up into Tony's face, and cut off his retort. "I am a grown woman, Tony. If coming after me means he will stop targeting children, then he needs to come after me. This is a game to him. He wants to dictate terms, make the rules, and end the game his way."

"How do we stop him, then? If he gets you, the game continues for him; he just starts over," McGee protested.

"Simple, McGee. We change the rules," drawled Gibbs, walking in with Fornell. "You've played enough video games in your life, how do you get past a difficult level? Simple," he cut McGee's answer off with a wave of his hand, "we cheat. Figure out his rules, and change them. Officer Brynja Frost, Interpol, meet Agent Tobias Fornell, FBI. Is this the man that attacked you at FBI headquarters?"

Frost looked up at the stern older man. "No. I have never seen this man before," she glanced down at the ID badge on his chest, "only his name tag. I completed a sketch of my attacker; I believe Tony has it on his desk."

Tony handed the pad to Fornell, who gazed at it for a minute. "Officer Frost, there is no record of you visiting FBI headquarters in the last month. With whom did you sign in?"

"At the front desk. I asked to see the senior agent in charge, but was told he was out on a case. I managed to speak with a junior agent before leaving, and left a message. I was accosted in the elevator by your doppelganger. Do you recognize him?"

Fornell nodded. "I do. This little prick works in our mailroom. He's new, been there just about a month." He looked up at Gibbs. "His duties take him into every office, even to the front desk. He had access to the sign-in screen, too. If he has any computer skills at all, he could have expunged the record of your visit, as well as stolen my name badge." He paused for a moment, then said darkly, "He's been sporting a black eye and a broken nose around the office for a while now. Told us all he was mugged after work one day. He's been getting a lot of sympathy from the office staff." Fornell handed the pad to Gibbs. "Keep me appraised, Gibbs. I need to go to my own office, and pay my respects."

"Respects?" demanded Frost, indignantly.

"It's a euphemism, Officer Frost," offered McGee. "He is actually going to take the imposter into custody, or something like that."

"Quite a lot of 'or something' there, Agent McGee," growled Fornell. "If this pencil-neck is in league with the baby killer, custody will be the least of his worries. Officer Frost," he held out his hand, "feel free to come down to the FBI for a real visit sometime. I feel I owe you that. Good hunting."

She took his hand, and shook it briskly. "Thank you, Agent Fornell. I may do that. Now, I need to get down to Autopsy, and catalogue the most recent seven."

Gibbs' head snapped around. "Seven what?"

Officer Frost gave him a look. "Victims, Agent Gibbs. I need to catalogue the most recent seven victims: the girls in your morgue."

Gibbs took a step towards her, and Fornell, on his way to the elevator, stopped and turned back.

"We only have five victims downstairs, Officer Frost, unless something has happened I don't know about?" He glared at McGee and DiNozzo, who shook their heads. "Why would you think seven?"

She waved her hand impatiently. "I told you that this morning. The same MO each time: seven bodies, same patterns of abuse. Nobody ever told me the number seven; I recognized the case from McGee's descriptive email." Her breath caught. "Agent Gibbs, that means"

"The last two girls might still be alive. We need to search the ships, and quickly." Gibbs grabbed the remote, and pulled up the picture of the battle group again. "Three ships, two little girls, and it's already lunchtime. That's a lot of ground to cover, and we only have limited time. DiNozzo!"

"Yeah, Boss."

"Did you order the lockdown on those ships like I ordered this morning?"

"I said, 'Yeah, Boss'," DiNozzo stood up at his desk, grabbing his shield and gun, fumbling with his sling. "Blast it. I'll be glad to be rid of this thing."

Gibbs jumped onto a chair, his voice suddenly a bullhorn. "I need every available agent in the motor pool for an emergency Search and Rescue operation, commencing right now! Bring your shields and guns, people!" Hopping down from the chair, he almost stepped on Fornell, who was talking on his cell phone.

"Great. Have them here in 15 minutes. Oh, and take that pencil-neck Jarvis into custody, too. Yeah, the guy from the mailroom. Make sure he's miserable. Got that? Good." Fornell snapped his phone shut, and looked up at Gibbs. "You want some backup? I think I owe it to your respective departments."

Gibbs was already reaching into his desk for his shield and gun. "What'd you have in mind, Tobias? Your agents are out of their jurisdiction here, not that I would mind the help."

Fornell smiled. "Jock and Annie aren't. Consider them an inter-agency loan. We can introduce them to the kids downstairs, and then take them to the ships. It will definitely speed things up."

"Sounds great, Tobias." He headed for the elevator, agents in his wake. DiNozzo, Frost, and McGee crowded together with him.

"Sweet," said McGee. "I haven't worked with Jock and Annie for awhile. This is going to be interesting."

"More computer specialists, McGeek?" snorted DiNozzo.

"Better," said McGee. "Bloodhounds."

Cynthia had shoved master copies of warrants into Gibbs' hands as the elevator doors closed. "A real treasure, that woman," he had commented. The agents assembled on the dock waited as Gibbs assigned teams, handing one warrant each to DiNozzo and McGee. He kept one to himself.

"Listen up, people! I want each ship swept, bow to stern, and top to bottom! Keep your cell phones on at all times, and stay in communication. Remember what we're looking for; few places are going to be too small. DiNozzo's group takes Frigate One. McGee's group takes Frigate Two. Frost and I are taking the aircraft carrier. McAlister, you and your group secure the dock. When you board your ship, have them withdraw the gangplank: NOBODY LEAVES."

"GIBBS," shouted Frost, "CRANE!" She pointed up to where a tall crane was loading a large crate onto the battleship. He nodded.

"McAlister! Take an agent, get to the loading dock, and search the manifest and any crates still waiting to be loaded!" The man nodded, and his team dispersed.

"You ready for this, Frost?" Gibbs turned to her.

She nodded, the stiff seaside breeze throwing gold hair across her face and chasing clouds across the sky. Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed a hair tie and formed a thick ponytail. "I've been ready for a few years now, Agent Gibbs. Let's go."

Gibbs, Frost, and six agents boarded the battleship. A contingency of officers met them on the main deck, flanked by sailors. An officer in his mid-40's stepped smartly forward.

"Commander Daniel Hunt, Second in Command. Are you Agent Gibbs?" Gibbs nodded, and the man continued, shouting over the deck noise. "What's the meaning of this? I received a call from your office that our ship was under lockdown only this morning. What's going on?"

Gibbs handed him the warrant, and the officer read over it quickly. "You're the Ex O? Where's the Captain?" yelled Gibbs.

The Ex O shook his head. "The Captain is not on board. He was visiting his family when the lockdown order came in, and I have been unable to reach him. I suspect his cell phone may be off; he hasn't seen his wife and son in some time, and we were preparing to disembark three days from now. My God," he continued, reading through the memo in front of him, "do you actually believe something like this could be happening on my ship?"

Gibbs nodded. "I do," he shouted, "that's why we're here to search it. We already have five dead children in the Yard; we're hoping to find two survivors. You may have some killer squid on board, Ex O. How long have you held your position?"

"About five months, Agent Gibbs. I was promoted from Communications when our last Ex O had a heart attack. Can we adjourn to the ready room, or would you like to begin your search? Either way, speaking will be easier inside."

"My team has their orders. Let's go to the pilothouse; we need to search it anyway, and Officer Frost and I have a few questions," yelled Gibbs.

The Ex O's face registered surprise. "Frost?" He looked beyond Gibbs, finally seeing Officer Frost for the first time, and his eyes opened wide. "Brynja?"

She looked at him coolly, then nodded. "Hello, Daniel."

He stepped around Gibbs, coming face to face with her. "What are you doing here? Where the hell have you been? How?" He started a barrage of questions, but she held up a hand.

"This is neither the time nor place, Daniel," she shouted. "Let's get inside; we have a job to do."

The Ex O nodded, and Gibbs and Frost followed him to the pilothouse. Once inside, the sounds of the ship and wind no longer obscuring their conversation, a very perturbed Gibbs turned on Officer Frost.

"I brought you onto this ship, and I can boot your ass off! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't do just that." Her mouth opened to protest and his glare deepened. "You've with-held information from me three times today. If you want to sabotage this investigation, you're doing a damn good job of it! You never mentioned even knowing any of the officers of this ship, and now it's apparent you've been dating one! Explain yourself!" Face reddening, Gibbs finally fell silent.

Frost glared up at him. "I was DOING MY JOB," she finally yelled. "I couldn't get the necessary clearance from any of your offices to get on the damn ship, so I tried a different route, that's all! Daniel and I dated for two weeks in Izmir; he was third in command. I was hoping to get on-board for an informal tour, as a pretense for searching the ship. I was convinced that the next set of victims was already aboard!"

Gibbs face grew red, and the artery on his temple popped out. "Did you sleep with him, too?"

Frost's face flushed RED all the way to her hair, and both hands clenched into fists. "NO, I DID NOT," she bellowed. "I'M AN INVESTIGATOR, NOT A PROSTITUTE!" She returned Gibbs' angry glare, muscles locked, and they stood that way for a minute, neither giving ground or wanting to. Frost took one step closer to Gibbs, and lowered her voice to a growl. Her eyes narrowed accusingly. "Would you do it? Seduce a possible suspect just to get information? Is that how YOU handle cases?"

Gibbs recoiled in disgust. "No!"

She advanced, indignant. "Then why would you even ask me such a question," she hissed. "Because I am a woman: is that it? I am female, therefore I must use my body to deceive and manipulate? Is that normal American police practice, or have your personal relationships sucked so badly that you think this of all women?"

The last remark stung Gibbs like a slap, and it showed on his face. "You're out of line, Officer Frost," he breathed.

She glared back, "So were you, Agent Gibbs. We are now even. Can we please do our jobs?"

Gibbs took a breath, and backed off two steps, looking her in the eyes. "Fine. But withhold information from me again, and I'll personally drop kick your ass all the way back to Lyon! Understand?"

She nodded. "Fine. We can start searching, then?"

Gibbs jerked a thumb at the Ex O, who had been standing there watching the entire argument. "No. I'm searching. You're explaining." Her face screwed up again with indignation, and he cut her off. "You didn't really suspect him, I saw it in your face. You wouldn't have gone out with him if you had."

She nodded. "Daniel had not been part of the crew long enough; I profiled him before we went out. He could not have been part of the atrocities."

Gibbs' color returned to normal, and his temple stopped throbbing. "So, explain it to him: the nature of your relationship, and why you disappeared without calling. He's been worried about you. That much is plain. He deserves an explanation: what was real, and what wasn't. After that, have him help you search."

She hesitated, glancing at the Commander Hunt, and then nodded.

So they talked.

And they searched. And searched. And searched.

The search went on for the rest of the day, and into the evening. Fornell showed up three hours into it with the hounds and their handlers, and eventually cleared the smaller frigates. The dogs could find no trace of the children, and neither could the searching agents. Gibbs, Frost, and Hunt tore through the pilothouse and the officer's cabins, and came up empty. The forecastle was clean; so was the galley, the crew's quarters, the chapel, and the medical deck. The lifeboats were empty. Nothing suspicious was found in the engine room. DiNozzo and McGee brought their crews over to the aircraft carrier after their frigates had been cleared, and commenced searching from the stern of the ship. They broke up two poker games, and walked in on two different seamen making out with visiting girlfriends, but no trace of any child was found.

At 6pm, Gibbs called a break, and the agents all ate sandwiches sent over by Vance. Gibbs, DiNozzo, McGee, and Frost all conferred as they gulped bologna and water.

"We're running out of ship, people," growled Gibbs. "I know we're looking for a needle in a haystack, but is there any way we can speed this up? Ideas, anybody? After all this, I would hate to come up empty."

Frost rubbed her temples with one hand. "It would help if we had some idea how the victims were brought on board, as well as stored. The gangplank is the most obvious way; the ship hosts school groups and refugees all the time. It might be all too easy to simply keep someone stashed away, prevent them from leaving, if they had walked in under their own power in a crowd. The victims might even have been escorted off ship the same way, for the last time, under their own power."

"God, I hope we aren't too late," sighed McGee. "I don't think I can handle finding another kid's body."

"Did McAlister find anything in the crates on the dock?" asked DiNozzo, suddenly suspicious.

"Empty," sighed Gibbs.

"What about the dogs? Did they hit on anything dockside?" pressed DiNozzo. Gibbs looked up at him suddenly, then whipped out his phone. "Tobias? Jethro. Have Jock and Annie checked out the loading crates on the dock yet?" He paused. "Yes, they were physically inspected, but the dogs will know if the kids had been inside them. A hit from them is proof of presence. Ok. Keep me posted."

Turning, he waved at Fornell across the dock, and Fornell waved back, walking behind the lop-eared detectives.

"Fornell is going to have the dogs check out those crates, and then he'll bring them up onto the ship. If anything can speed this up, they will," said Gibbs, then stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth. "We should all hit the main hold next, I think, and after that"

The words died in his mouth at the sound coming across the dock: the dogs had begun to sing, and their baying hung hauntingly in the evening air. Gibbs' phone rang in his pocket, and he almost dropped it trying to open it. "Yeah! Gibbs!"

"Jethro? Tobias! The dogs just hit on three of these empty crates! It looks like they were sanitized, but I'm securing the scene anyway. Get me some agents down here to process this, pronto!"

"Understood. Bring the dogs on the ship." He hung up. "DiNozzo, get a team down to Tobias on the double. The dogs just hit on three of the empty crates, and they need isolation and processing."

"On it, Boss," said DiNozzo, and whistling at his earlier team, they ran down the gangplank.

Gibbs turned to McGee next. "McGee, find the loading manifest. I want whoever loaded and signed for those crates identified and brought in for questioning. Head to the pilothouse: the Ex O should still be on duty, and he can pull those records for you. Find out from him, also, if he has heard from the Captain."

"On it, Boss," said McGee crisply, and jogged toward the pilothouse.

Frost," said Gibbs as he turned, but she had walked away from the group towards the middle of the ship, where a crate still hung suspended from the crane's hoist. Squatting down, she placed her hand in something on the deck, and lifted it to her nose, then recoiled. She stood up suddenly, staring at it, horrified, then turned back towards Gibbs, screaming:

"RESCUE! GIBBS! RESCUE!"

Gibbs ran to her, and the dogs, boarding, saw him and followed. Reaching the spot where she stood, Gibbs grabbed her by the shoulders. The woman was nearly hysterical.

"Frost! Get a hold of yourself! What? Where? What did you find?"

She was nearly sobbing. "The CRATE, Gibbs. THEY'RE IN THIS CRATE, AND THEY'VE BEEN HANGING IN THE SUN ALL DAY!" She pointed at the crate above their heads: the one they had stopped from loading nearly six hours before. One of the dogs, reaching the spot where Frost had stooped, put his nose into a small puddle, then lifted his nose to the sky and bayed.

The ship's top deck suddenly resembled an anthill. Gibbs started screaming instructions to DiNozzo and then McGee over the phone, and whistles started blowing. Somebody found a crane operator, and the crate was gently lowered onto the deck. Frost dove into one of the lifeboats, and emerging with an emergency ax she attacked the padlocks holding the crate shut. One snapped after three strikes, but the second held until Gibbs took the ax from her and demolished it. DiNozzo, who by now had joined them, helped Gibbs open the crate's side door in front of the widening audience of agents and sailors. The stench made them all retch. A few ran to the sides of the ship and puked at the sight.

Seven little girls lay, naked and shaven, on a pile of blankets soaked with sweat and urine.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Frost climbed into the crate, heedless of the filth and stench, stripping off her jacket as she went. Bending down, she felt for a pulse at the first child's neck, then wrapped the jacket around her and picked her up. Coughing a little, she staggered out of the crate, nearly running into DiNozzo as she did so. He reached out to steady her, then scooped the child from her arms, turned, and ran.

"Don't just stand, people, MOVE," she screamed, diving back inside. "THEY'RE STILL ALIVE!"

Agents suddenly swarmed in with her, covering the children with jackets and shirts and extracting them. Sirens wailed on the dock; someone had called 911, and ambulances were rolling in. Panting, the ship's chief medical officer appeared on deck, screaming directions that nobody would heed. He finally grabbed Agent Gibbs by the sleeve.

"This is FOOLISH!" the doctor bellowed. "This ship has a fully functional hospital! We're perfectly capable of treating these children! Evacuating them only increases their chances of death! Tell these idiots of yours to turn around, and bring them back! NOW!"

Gibbs turned on him, snarling, and grabbed the doctor by the collar. "THIS SHIP, INCLUDING YOUR HOSPITAL, IS A CRIME SCENE," he roared. "STAY OUT OF THE WAY!" Shoving the shocked medic aside, he started barking orders to the rest of the agents not carrying children, directing them to resume the search. Men and women scurried to obey, not wanting to face his wrath, but Commander Hunt approached him, his face pale and drained.

"Is searching the rest of the ship still necessary, Agent Gibbs?" the man asked. "It seems you found what you came for."

Gibbs met the man's eyes, and nodded stiffly. "These crimes happen in sets of seven, Commander Hunt. This," he motioned to the children being loaded into the waiting sets of ambulances, "was one set of seven. The set previous to it lacks two." The older man suddenly looked weary. "We still have to find them. I just hope we can find them alive as well." He looked at the younger officer's face, noticing the drawn expression. "Has something else happened?"

"Yes," said Commander Hunt tiredly. "I just got another call. Captain Jenkins' body has been found in his home. He committed suicide this morning."

Gibbs left DiNozzo in charge of the continuing search, and put McGee in charge of collecting evidence from the children's crate prison. After a quick call to Vance, he found Frost on the dock, walking back from the ambulances to the ship. She looked tired.

"Frost," he said, catching her on the shoulder, and it was only when she turned that he saw she had been crying.

"My fault," she said, her voice ragged. "I saw it. I should have had that crate searched when we came aboard. If they die now," she took a shuddering breath, and Gibbs silenced her.

"No," he said, grabbing her by the shoulders. "NO. It is not your fault! You did not put those kids in that box! Now get a hold of yourself; we have another crime scene to visit!"

Her confusion showed. "Aren't we going to finish searching the ship? We still haven't found the two girls we came for. What about them?"

Gibbs placed a hand between her shoulder blades, steering her away from the ship. "Commander Hunt just told me the captain committed suicide sometime today." Her eyes widened, and she took a sharp breath. "The rest of my available crew is here. I need somebody to help me process the other scene. Ducky is meeting us there; DiNozzo and McGee can handle this. Frost," he gripped her shoulder a little harder, and gave her a shake, "can you help me with this?"

"Yes," she said, "but you have to drive. I don't know the way."

"If you insist," he murmured, heading for the car.

An hour later, Gibbs and Frost stepped out of the truck into a quiet military suburb, at a house already under guard and roped off with yellow tape. Ducky and Palmer were waiting for them in the Autopsy ambulance, and climbed out when they arrived. Frost, her hair now in a tight French braid, accepted a pair of gloves from Gibbs, and the four of them walked into the dead Captain's house, Gibbs in the lead.

"I heard, Jethro, about your find at the carrier," said Ducky gravely. "You were lucky to find them alive. Let's hope to God they stay that way," the older man said, and Gibbs only nodded.

The Captain's body sat, slumped over, in a plush Victorian chair, his head lolling to one side and a pistol in his right hand, which lay in his lap. The back of his skull had been blown away, and blood splattered the back of the chair and the wall behind it. A handwritten note lay on a nearby coffee table. Other than the mess from the body and some dust, the rest of the house was immaculate.

"Frost, you sketch, and I'll shoot," offered Gibbs, handing her the sketching pad and a few pencils from the truck. He pulled the lens cap off of the camera, and started clicking away. Frost started drawing the scene, and soon had the room's details fairly represented. When they were finished, Ducky stepped in with his thermometer.

"Dead about nine hours, by my estimation, Jethro," the old ME offered. "I'll put his official time of death at about 10:30 this morning. Do you need the body any longer, or can I take it?"

"So, just after DiNozzo called in the lockdown, but well before we arrived at the carrier to search. Frost? Do you need any more time?" asked Gibbs.

"I'm finished," she said, laying the pad on the table, and looking around the room. Pictures of the Captain's family hung on the walls, and she moved in for a closer look. Gibbs took the gun out of the dead Captain's hand and unloaded it, putting the brass and the gun into separate evidence bags, then picked up the note and read it.

"Hmmm," he said. " 'All that is required for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. Sykurhjupa was right; I am so sorry. May God have mercy on my soul.' He signed it at the bottom." He carefully stuffed the note into a bag, and then sealed it. "Sounds like he knew what was going on, and turned a blind eye, but that he wasn't directly involved."

"It still makes him a disgrace to the uniform, Jethro," said Ducky gruffly, lowering the body to the floor with Palmer's help. "If he knew what was going on and did nothing to stop it, then a bullet is far better than what he deserved."

"No argument there, Duck," said Gibbs softly. He glanced up at Frost, who had ceased looking at the family photographs and was walking briskly down the hallway towards the master bed and bathrooms. She returned a minute later, brow furrowed. "Find anything?" asked Gibbs.

She shook her head. "No, and that's strange. The master bedroom is immaculate; there's even dust on the bedspread. No cosmetics or feminine articles in the bathroom, and the spare bedroom is an empty shell. Commander Hunt said the Captain was going to visit his wife and son, but if he did, they don't live here." She walked over to the dining room table, where several papers lay spread out, and started looking through them.

"Not so strange if they're divorced,"mused Gibbs. "Military life can be hell on a marriage." He turned to one of the MP's at the door. "Any word on the location of the Captain's family?"

"No, Agent Gibbs," said the young Marine.

"What is a 'see-ker-yoo-pa'?" asked Palmer, "it was in the note," he added at the look from Gibbs.

"It's Icelandic for 'sugar-frost', my boy," intoned Ducky. "Positioned so close to the Arctic Circle, the Nordic people have many different words for ice, frost, and snow. Not nearly as many as many as the Inuit, of course, but still quite an impressive collection. I can tell you a good many…"

"Please, Doctor," said Frost, interrupting him. "The word refers to me. My surname in my own language is Sykurhjupa, but how the Captain knew that is a mystery. I had legally changed my name to 'Frost' before beginning this investigation." She continued sorting through the various pictures, newspaper articles, and other papers on the desk, and Gibbs walked over to her. He looked down at her, one eyebrow cocked.

"'Sugar-frost'?" he asked playfully, but she would not be baited.

"No, Agent Gibbs. With the years I have lost my sugar. Now I am just frost." She met his eyes, and the ice returned. "It is a hazard of my line of work. There is nothing sweet about it. If you had seen some of the crime scenes I have investigated in the last 5 years, perhaps you would understand."

Gibbs straightened up, and his eyes hardened. "It's been nearly 20 years for me, Frost. Yeah, I think I understand. But walling yourself off from others is too expensive in the long run. Take it from someone who knows about isolation."

She continued to meet his eyes, and Gibbs swore he could see the doors shutting behind them. "We have a saying in my country, Agent Gibbs: 'Better cold and alive, than warm and dead'." She returned to her inventory of the papers in front of her, and he heard the sharp intake of her breath. "I have found the Captain's family, Agent Gibbs; they are dead."

She held up a pair of obituaries. "Mrs. Jenkins took her own life five years ago. His son," she sat down suddenly, and started pawing through the pictures on the table. Finding what she wanted, she sat and stared at it.

"Frost?" asked Gibbs.

Her voice was suddenly flat. "Seven years ago I sent him to prison. He was one of a gang that raped my college roommate. She committed suicide out of humiliation." She looked up at Gibbs. "He died in prison a year later. The quote in the Captain's note: I said that at the trial; there were people in the boys' lives that knew what had happened, and would do nothing about it."

Gibbs sat down, and began stuffing the various papers into evidence bags. He motioned for Frost to do the same. "He blamed you for his son's death, then. It might explain why he was willing to overlook some of his sailor's actions, even cover for them. It definitely explains how he knew who you really are. It doesn't explain this, though," he said, motioning to the bloody mess in the living room.

Frost shrugged. "Perhaps he just got sick of it."

"One can only hope," said Gibbs.

It was dark by the time they got back to NCIS headquarters, and nearly midnight before DiNozzo and McGee returned from the dock. No more children had been found on the carrier, but there were plenty of traces for the dogs, and five sailors were in custody, one of them a medic. Ducky put the Captain's body in a cooler after drawing blood samples; he planned to do the autopsy the following day. Gibbs showed Frost how they catalogued evidence, and between the two of them the job was quickly done. Abby had to be nearly forcibly ejected from her lab; high on CafPow, she had successfully identified the substance on the victims' skin as a medical grade cleanser. The type used in the carrier's hospital matched it exactly. Horrified, the chief medical officer tendered his resignation, as did three of the nurses. Commander Hunt spent an hour closeted with Director Vance in MTAC talking to SecNav, and emerged as Captain pro tem for the duration of the investigation. His face was grave in the bullpen.

"I don't plan on keeping this job," he confessed to the group, "at least not on this ship. I don't want to be associated with it. I keep thinking I can hear people screaming through the bulkheads whenever I walk through the halls. Half the crew feels the ship should be scuttled, just to lay the spirits to rest. I almost agree with them."

"We aren't dealing with a modern-day Gomorrah, Captain Hunt," stated Vance, "just a viper's nest within a floating city. We don't burn down cities to eliminate snakes: we just kill the snakes. There are over 4,000 decent, hardworking sailors on that ship who never disgraced the uniform. Remember that. I'll have some counselors join your crew first thing in the morning."

"Thank you, Director Vance. Agents, I hope you find the last two children, and soon." The man sounded as exhausted as they all felt. "We need some good news. I'm heading back to my ship for the evening. It isn't right I should be away, when my men are under lockdown." He turned to Frost. "Can I speak to you for a moment, Brynja?" She hesitated, and then nodded; they withdrew from the group for a few moments to talk.

"Ideas, people?" urged Vance. "By Frost's count, we're still missing two children. We've run out of places to look, the squid in the brig aren't talking yet, and the original captain is dead. Are you certain that we have all of the perps locked up?"

"No, we're not," offered McGee. Gibbs and Vance looked at him, and he glanced at DiNozzo for confirmation. Tony nodded, and he continued. "Tony and I have been talking things over, and we think the cell was run by some sort of alpha male, perhaps one of the officers. The medic we have in custody fits the profile: he has the rank and the medical training, but doesn't seem like the intimidating type."

"And this leads where?" demanded Gibbs.

"Tim and I think whoever the alpha male is, that he's actively hunting Brynja now," Tony stated flatly. "The blond wig, the size of the more recent victims, sometimes even their bone structure: when put together, they bear an uncanny resemblance to our Interpol officer. HE KNOWS WHO SHE IS. We think she is his current target. We should put her in protective custody," he finished.

"The attacks on her," began Gibbs.

"Boss, would it stop you?" pointed out McGee. "Did it ever?"

Gibbs looked over at where Frost and Hunt were shaking hands. "Hell, no."

Frost rejoined them. "Captain Hunt needs somebody to take him down to his car, but I don't believe my retina scan is in the computer yet. What did I miss?" she said.

Vance cleared his throat. "Just a check-out. I'll take the Captain downstairs. Are you agents going home, or spending the night here?"

"I'm staying," said Gibbs.

"If you're staying, I'm staying," declared DiNozzo flatly.

"I'm staying if you two are staying," insisted McGee.

"Oh, I'm staying," said Gibbs again. The three men turned to Frost expectantly. She looked from one face to another, and held up her hands.

"With all due respect to the testosterone, gentlemen, I'm going home to shower and change clothing. I'll be back here first thing in the morning," she explained, "I have an efficiency apartment only a 10 blocks from here."

"How are you going to get there?" McGee asked, tentatively. "You didn't drive this morning, and I wouldn't suggest taking a cab at this hour."

"Oh, I can take her," said Abby brightly, bouncing into the conversation. "My car is downstairs, and I don't mind. Could I crash at your place, though, Brynja? My apartment is all the way across town, and I think my CafPow will have worn off by the time I get home."

"Not bloody likely," coughed DiNozzo into his fist. Abby slugged him in the arm. "Ow," he whined.

"That will be fine, Abby," said Frost, and she smiled a little. "You can use my shower and laundry, too. I'll get my bag," she offered, and went back to her desk.

Gibbs grabbed Abby's hand, and swiftly kissed her on the cheek. "You're a genius."

She grinned at him. "I know," she said brightly, then joined Brynja and headed for the elevator.

"Damn," said Tony, when the two women were out of earshot. "That always worked on Kate and Ziva."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Abby and Brynja crossed the threshold of her apartment door, laughing softly, and Brynja turned on the lights. The room was small, a double bed crowded along one wall, a desk and a dresser opposed it. A small hallway led to a bathroom, and a tiny kitchen space doubled as an eating nook. Walking to the refrigerator, Brynja pulled a few pizzas out of the freezer and put them in the oven. Turning it on, she then went to her message machine and changed the tape.

"I can listen to the messages at my leisure this way, and I don't have to worry about anything accidentally erasing in the middle of another call," she explained. "Would you like to use my land-line to call Gibbs? He'll want to know we arrived safely, and where we are, so he can set up his stake-out."

Abby's mouth dropped open. "What makes you think Gibbs would" she started to ask, but Brynja's laugh stopped her.

"Please, Abby: Tony and McGee have been trying to get me into protective custody since noon today, or rather, yesterday," she explained. "I've been in law enforcement long enough to recognize a protection detail being set up. The thought of sleeping on the floor behind my desk, next to Tony's unwashed socks, simply does not appeal to me." Brynja pulled another container out of the freezer, dumped its creamy contents into a large glass bowl, and put it in the microwave. She smiled over at Abby. "I really appreciate you coming along. I don't often get to spend time with other women. Most of the officers I work with are men, and they can be," she hesitated, looking for the right English word.

"A little crusty?" offered Abby.

"Yes. Tony has been biting his tongue all day; I think he is ready to explode! He can be nice enough, but there is something in his eyes, too much contradiction," she paused as if wanting to say more, but reconsidered. "You should make your call. Gibbs will be worried soon, if he isn't already. I'm going to take a shower."

"Ok," said Abby, picking up the phone. Brynja disappeared into the bathroom, and soon running water could be heard. Abby dialed Gibbs' cell phone, and checked in with him, giving him Brynja's address and home phone number. "In case you and Tony decide we need more babysitting," she added playfully.

Brynja emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, wrapped in a large bathrobe and toweling her hair. "You may use the shower if you wish," she offered, "and I have a small washer and dryer. I don't think I have any clothing you can wear, though. You're much taller than I am."

"That's ok, Brynja," said Abby. "I brought a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to wear to bed." She dug into the small bag she had carried in from her car, pulling out the extra clothing. "I learned a long time ago about being prepared for these sorts of things. It comes from hanging out with Gibbs," she explained.

Abby disappeared into the bathroom, and Brynja heard the shower turn on. Pulling a brush out of her pocket, she began to pull the tangles out of her freshly washed hair. Finished, she set the brush aside, pulled out a pair of pajamas, and got dressed. Discreetly peeking out her blinds, she spotted a few cars that hadn't been parked outside when they arrived; at least one still contained people, and she smiled. The telephone rang suddenly, just as her oven timer 'dinged!'

_Blast_, she thought, _answer the phone and the pizza burns. Well, that's why I have an answering machine. Gibbs can just wait_. Bypassing the ringing phone, she grabbed some oven mitts and pulled the pizza out of the oven, then pulled the cream soup out of the microwave and stirred it. She could hear the answering machine starting to cycle, but decided to ignore it. _Still not finished_, she thought, and put the soup back in to heat some more.

The message finally kicked on, but it wasn't Gibbs' voice. A stranger growled through a voice distortion device, werewolf-like in sound.

"It's rude to ignore your phone, Brynja. I'll enjoy teaching you some manners. You have far too many guests for us to party tonight, though. I was hoping we could spend some time alone. I'll console myself with the images of you in the shower for now. Pity the camera fogged up too much for me to capture your friend; I would have enjoyed her, too."

There was more, but Brynja wasn't listening. Snatching up her fallen robe, she ran to the bathroom. "ABBY," she screamed, "GET OUT OF THE SHOWER!" Yanking back the curtain on a very soapy Abby, she threw the garment over her exposed form before even turning off the water.

Abby slipped once on the wet surface, sputtering in surprise and pulling her soapy hair away from her face. "Brynja, what the hell?" she started, but seeing the look on the shorter woman's face fell silent and exited the bathroom. "What happened? What's going on?"

"There is a camera in the shower stall; he got me, but not you," hissed Brynja. "SKRI'MSLI!" she screamed at the phone, which was still spouting obscenities.

"Monster?" he sounded amused, and her horror grew. He could HEAR her! Worse, he could UNDERSTAND her! "You can do better than that, Sykur. I'll have you screaming lots of things before I'm done. I'm very angry with you, Brynja; I'll enjoy punishing you."

Brynja advanced on the phone, her face twisted in hatred. "Come on, then. Let's FINISH this," she screamed, "just you and me. You can be Grendel, and I'll play BEOWULF."

"Not tonight, dear," the monster purred. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow is a big day. You get to play the hero one last time; then you're mine. You need to learn obedience, starting now. Don't leave, Sugar. Behave, and I'll give your new playmates my used toys, alive. They can do with them what they like, but you, you're mine."

The line went dead. Brynja leaned against the wall next to her phone, choking back bile.

"Brynja?" said Abby horrified, "Was that the" but Brynja bolted past her to the bathroom, and Abby could hear retching sounds. She ran to her cell phone.

"Gibbs? Get in here. HE WAS HERE, GIBBS! Third floor, apartment 5C. I'll have the door open." Hanging up, Abby wrapped the robe around her more securely, and walked to the bathroom. She found Brynja rinsing out her mouth at the sink, shaking uncontrollably.

Someone started pounding on the apartment door, and Abby ran to let in Gibbs and DiNozzo. She unlocked it, and the men burst in, guns drawn, only to find Frost slumped on the hallway floor, shaking. Gibbs ran to her first.

"Frost," he grabbed her firmly by the shoulders, and shook her a little, "BRYNJA! Talk to me. What happened?"

"Tape," she said hoarsely. "Pull the tape on the answering machine. Playback device on my kitchen counter. He was here, Gibbs," she met his eyes, but hers were empty, "cameras, bugs, shower and living quarters. He knew I was here tonight, that I WOULD be here. We showered," she swallowed again, and regained some control, "I went first, and he taped me." She stopped, looking away from him, ashamed. "Abby was lucky; he said it didn't work for her." She glanced up at his face again, then back down at the floor at his expression.

"DiNozzo," snapped Gibbs, turning away from Brynja and standing, "check the shower roof and fixtures for a hidden camera or holes that can conceal one. We need to find it. Abby: pull the tape from the answering machine. We're evacuating back to HQ for the night." He looked at Abby, hair still full of shampoo and soaking wet, and reconsidered. "On second thought, Abbs, just rinse your hair out at the sink. I'll get the tape. Frost," he snapped, "she needs another towel."

DiNozzo ducked into the bathroom. Gibbs walked to the phone, punched the release button, and removed the tape. Finding a spare in the drawer beneath it, he reloaded it and headed for the kitchen, where Abby was bent over the sink, rinsing out her hair. Gibbs loaded the new message tape into the playback machine and started rewinding, turning as he felt something brush behind him. Turning, he saw Frost hand Abby two fresh towels, and at his glare the blond left the room. The machine clicked, and he pressed 'play', listening to the werewolf voice spout its threats.

Abby coughed behind him, and Gibbs glanced up. Hair rinsed, and minus her makeup, she looked a little drowned, he thought. His face softened. "Get dressed, Abbs, as best as you can, so we can leave. I'll need analysis of the camera as soon as we can find it." She nodded, and disappeared around the corner. He continued listening, and soon a loud pounding and popping sound came from the bathroom. The tape finished, and DiNozzo appeared with a small camera feed in his hand.

"Concealed inside the exhaust fan hole, it didn't take long to find. I had to break some of the surrounding fixture to get it out, though," the tall agent said. "This looks like a short-range unit; the bastard could be within a one-mile radius. We'll need some of McGee's magic to find the microphone, though. Those can be put almost anywhere, even behind siding." Tony paused, looking at Gibbs' expression, "What's on the tape?"

"Garbage," the older man replied. "We'll analyze it at the lab. For now, we need to get out of here. Where's Frost?"

"I'll get her," offered Tony, and disappeared around the corner. He found her sitting on the floor at the far end of the hallway, her back to the wall and hugging her knees. She was staring at the floor, her face blank. He squatted down next to her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Brynja, we need to leave. Is there anything you want to grab? You can change clothing back at HQ, I wouldn't recommend it here."

She didn't look at him, continuing to stare at the floor, but answered him flatly, "No. I can't leave."

He made a noise to protest, and she cut him off. "Grendel's instructions were clear. I stay: the children live. You can have them tomorrow. If I leave tonight, he kills them." She finally met his eyes; hers were hollow. "Gibbs listened to the tape, but he didn't really hear it. He is upset that Abby was involved, and didn't hear the rest. His emotions are getting in the way." She looked up at Tony. "I know what you all think of Gibbs, but he is a man, and men get carried away by emotion. Abby is like a daughter to him; I see that in the way he looks at her. Listen to the tape if you don't believe me," she suggested, and turned her gaze back to the floor.

Tony stood up, staring at Brynja, concerned, and then walked back into the kitchen. He found Gibbs removing the rewound tape from the machine. "Is that it? Put it back in, I need to hear it," he stated flatly. Gibbs blinked in surprise at the younger man's tone, but reloaded the tape and pressed 'play'. Tony listened for a minute, his face contorting with anger, and Gibbs interjected.

"You heard enough yet, DiNozzo? We have to get the girls out of here," he snapped. Tony glared at him, and pressed the 'stop' button. Rewinding for a second, he stopped it again, and turned to face his boss.

"You missed something, Boss, now let me listen," his level gaze was a challenge. Tony pressed 'play' again: finishing the message while Gibbs stared at him curiously. "There, hear it?" He turned to face the older man. "Brynja has to stay here tonight. It's a rule. She stays, and we get the kids back tomorrow alive. Psychopathic stalker ploy. He wants her to submit, starting tonight, so he can start breaking her down."

Gibbs breathed in, deeply shaken at what he had almost done. "If I had pulled Brynja out tonight, he might have killed them." His face was troubled. "I was just,"

"Thinking of me," finished Abby. Hair still wet, but dressed, she had joined them in the kitchen. "Gibbs, thanks for bein' concerned and all, but I'm not a little girl, I'm a gun-totin' federal agent, and I want to GET this bastard, before he hurts any more babies OR Brynja. Now: Gibbs, take me back to the lab, so I can start processing the camera; Tony, you stay here with Brynja. We can't leave her alone with him so close." She turned to Gibbs. "You lost your focus, big daddy. Now GET IT BACK." She poked Gibbs in the chest with a finger for emphasis, and he stepped back. "This monster didn't violate ME, he violated BRYNJA. It isn't her fault this happened; it's HIS. She even keeps her door locked, unlike some other agents I know! This is HER PLACE; it's HER BED and HER SHOWER. She has the RIGHT to expect to be safe here, and to expect her GUESTS to be safe. You forgot that, because you freaked out about ME." She poked him again. "Now, stop blaming HER for what HE did!"

Gibbs started to protest, but looking into his agents' faces, he saw the truth, and nodded.

DiNozzo walked over to the phone, picked up the receiver, and punched two buttons. Listening for a second, he grabbed a spare piece of paper and a pen, and quickly wrote down a number, which he handed to Abby.

"Caller ID on werewolf guy. See if McGee can track this down. Brynja called him something else, Grendel I think. I'm not sure if that's significant or not."

"She screamed it at him while he was taunting her. She told him he could be Grendel, and she would be Beowulf," explained Abby. "I'll mention it to McGee. I think I remember it from one of my literature classes, but I'm not sure."

"No need. Beowulf is a monster killer from Nordic mythology," offered DiNozzo. Surprise showed on both Gibbs' and Abby's faces. "There was a movie about it a few years back; Angelina Jolie played the monster's mother, big fight in an underwater cave, oh never mind," he finished, seeing Gibbs starting to look angry again. "Just get Abbs out of here; we all have work to do."

Tony saw them both out the door and threw the deadbolt, then barricaded it with the sofa. Walking back down the hallway, he found Brynja still huddled against the far wall, hugging her knees, her head down. He lowered himself to sit next to her, his back to the same wall, and just sat there for a minute in silence.

"How are you?" He asked, and studied her carefully. Her distress was obvious in her body language: the way she had curled up into a near-fetal position, her eyes averted, as far away from the others as possible.

She took a shuddering breath. "My mind," she made circular motions with her hands, "too fast." Her accent was getting thicker, another sign of stress and fatigue. "It hurts, but I have to work through it. It is part of the job, this," she paused again, searching for the right English word.

"Violation?" he offered. "Is that what you mean?"

"The risk of it, yes."

He thought about that for a second. "Like taking a bullet, then. A perpetrator can make you a target anytime." He leaned his head back against the wall and wished for coffee. It was 2am.

"A good analogy," she said, "even though it's expected, it doesn't make the experience any easier." She fell silent again, resting her chin on her knees. Tony watched her carefully before speaking again.

"This isn't your fault."

"Gibbs thinks it is," she said flatly, and turned her face away again. Tony opened his mouth to protest, but she spoke before he could. "I saw it in his face, Tony. He blames me for this, that Abby was exposed like this. If I had taken his suggestion and stayed at NCIS tonight, nothing would have happened: at least not to her. Since he can't strike Grendel, the closest person associated to him becomes Gibb's target. That's me." She leaned her head back against the wall. "I wager he has been hell to work with for this past month." She sighed. "He's so like Liam, that's why it hurts. It was like seeing it in HIS face, like Liam was the one blaming me, not Gibbs."

"Liam?" prompted Tony.

She glanced at him, then closed her eyes. "Liam was my partner. He was much like Gibbs: older, intense, intuitive, and VERY protective. I learned a lot from him. He's the one that connected the bodies to the Navy ports of call." She smiled at the memory. "We called him the Scottish Bulldog; once he latched onto a case, he would never let go. I promised him," she stretched her legs out a little, "that I would finish this. I'm not going to quit now."

"He died?" prompted Tony. "When? And how?"

Brynja frowned, thinking. "About two and a half years ago, soon after we took this case. He was stabbed to death in a fight outside a Spanish club. The local authorities dismissed it as, what do you call it, bashing?"

"Gay bashing?" offered Tony. "Was Liam gay?"

"Yes. We were quite the team: 'the Fag and the Freshman', the other officers used to call us. He was a good officer, though, and a good friend. I miss him a lot."

Tony sat in silence for a few minutes, just thinking. Finally he offered, "I lost a partner like that about four years ago. Her name was Kate. She was shot by a terrorist while she was standing next to me. One second she was standing there, joking, and the next," he didn't finish the sentence. Remembering Kate's death brought up too many painful memories, and he needed to keep his focus.

"I'm sorry," Brynja offered, and patted his arm. Her body language, Tony saw, was finally opening up. It was a good sign. She yawned.

"Thanks. We can compare notes, maybe, after this is over," offered Tony. "You're tired, Brynja. If you want to crash, I'll keep watch."

"Thanks, I think I will," she said. Getting up, she walked to her old bed, and came back with a few pillows and a blanket. "But I'm never sleeping in that bed again." Arranging her blanket and pillows on the floor, she lay down again.

Tony stood up, and wandered into the kitchen, looking for coffee. He found the pizza first, cold now but still tantalizing, and helped himself. Something was bugging him, and chewing always helped him calm his mind.

"Brynja, you still awake?" he asked, peeking around the corner.

"Yes, Tony."

"How many people knew Liam was gay?"

She turned over to peer at him over her pillow. "Everybody in Lyon. Our partnership was some sort of office joke. Opposite poles, and things like that. Why?"

(_bugbugbug)_ "How many people in Spain knew? Anybody at the local level?" His brow furrowed, Tony pressed. There was something there; he could feel it.

Brynja looked at him curiously. "Nobody. Just me. We were undercover as a couple at the time of the attack."

He walked back down the small hallway to sit next to her again. "So how did local police know Liam's murder was a gay bashing?"

She shrugged. "The gang was a local one, known for targeting gays."

He peered down at her. "How did the GANG know? Were you in a gay bar?"

She inhaled. "No. The club catered to sailors and locals; it was on the wharf. The nearest gay bar was across town." She paused, looking at the carpet, thinking. "It wasn't a random gang act, then. It was a hit."

"Who knew where you were?"

She looked up at him. "My boss."

Their eyes locked, and the same grim expression appeared on each face. Tony finally broke the silence.

"I forgot. How does Beowulf kill Grendel?"

Brynja smiled. "They have a big sword fight, then Beowulf rips Grendel's arm off with his bare hands, and beats him to death with it."

Tony's eyebrows went up. "Crude, gory, bloody, and ends with a satisfying crunch. I love this plan."

"Thank you."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

The sun was already up when Brynja awoke, stiff from sleeping on the floor. She stretched and looked around her, trying to remember why she was there, then memory flooded back in: the case, the break-in, and her privacy. Tony was no-where to be seen. She ducked into the bathroom for her morning toilet, being careful to keep herself covered in case there was another camera, and then went to the kitchen. She found Tony there brewing coffee, a little red-eyed from lack of sleep, and staring at a number of electronic gadgets on the kitchen counter: two more cameras and at least one tiny microphone. Her eyebrows rose.

"Good morning," she said, reaching for a mug from her cabinet, "You've been busy. Did you sleep at all? I don't remember much beyond our time together on the floor," she offered. "Where did you find these?"

Tony rubbed his forehead, bit his tongue to control himself, and sucked down some fresh coffee. "I got a few hours after you crashed. One camera was in the ceiling light fixture and trained on your bed: good call sleeping on the floor last night. The other was hidden in a crack, and trained on your door."

"To identify whoever walked through it," she said, pulling out a box of black tea. She added some hot water and a tea bag to her mug, and put it in her microwave.

"Yep. Coffee's fresh, if you want it. I won't drink the whole pot. I found the microphone on your lamp."

"The one next to the phone?"

"Yep." He stared at her while she fixed her tea, then suddenly realized, "You don't drink coffee, do you?"

She shook her head, platinum hair bouncing on her shoulders. "No. Coffee makes me ill, but my father enjoys it, so I keep it here for him. He works in DC, but is out on business." She stirred some honey into her tea, and sipped it. "I'll call him later, and probably sleep at his place for the rest of my stay here. He won't mind."

Tony scowled at her, and covered the still-functioning microphone with his hand. "You want more uninvited visitors at your dad's place? Watch your conversation around the bug!"

Brynja actually laughed over her tea. "You don't know my father! Any man stupid enough to try and break through his security system deserves what he gets. I'm not even going over there without talking to him first!" She gulped more tea, and set down her mug. "I'm going to grab some clothing before we leave; it won't take long. I'm not coming back here again until the case is finished."

"Good idea," Tony agreed. "You can change at my place, if you want. It isn't far from here. I can shower and change, too. I don't think you want to walk into the bullpen in your pajamas," he explained.

"Thank you: that would be nice." She paused, poking at the camera with her spoon. "Do you think Grendel is awake?"

"If he's military, he's awake," nodded a bleary-eyed Tony. "Why? You think he'll call again? That would be stupid. He has to know your phone is tapped by now."

"I'm sure he does." She sipped her tea again, and leaned back against the counter. "But he also thinks he owns me, remember? Spending the night here was a rule. I was willing to comply in order to get the girls back, but it's time to start playing this game a little differently. You're in law enforcement. Why is he doing this?"

Tony's cop mind came to life, and he focused on Brynja's eyes. "Power. He wants to break you down, prove his dominance. He's been satisfied with children as stand-ins, but now he wants the real thing."

She nodded. "He's convinced he is the stronger. I need to start showing him otherwise, challenge his dominance. It might throw him off his game, make him do something stupid."

"Like call when he shouldn't," he nodded. "That would probably work, if he's emotionally tied to his idea of ownership. What did you have in mind?"

Brynja gulped her tea again, and inhaled deeply. She looked away for a moment as she set down her mug, then back at Tony, calculatingly. "I need a little help with this, if you don't mind, but there is a risk you could become a target." He looked confused for a moment, so she continued. "I want to challenge his idea of ownership. If he thinks you're guilty of 'trespassing', he might come after you as well as me."

Tony raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Risk is part of the job. What did you have in mind?"

She smiled conspiratorially, "I just need you to stop being so **nice**, Agent DiNozzo. I need you to be…..**bad**."

His old lecherous grin reappeared. "And just how bad should I be, Agent Frost?"

Her smile widened, "Just follow my lead, bad boy," she said silkily. Taking the hand covering the microphone, she leaned into him suddenly, voice husky and low, "Do you play 'Good cop, Bad cop" in America? We may be stuck here for a while, anyway, waiting for permission to leave."

His pulse quickened automatically, and his grin widened. "That depends, Brynja. Which one of us gets to be the bad cop?" He traced the edge of her jaw with a finger.

"Did you bring your handcuffs with you," she asked teasingly, "or just your…nightstick?"

Tony sucked in a breath. This woman was REALLY starting to turn him on! "I never leave the stick behind, Brynja. You know that," his voice was suddenly husky, and his body tensed. He stepped into her space, cupping her face with his good hand and pulling it up. He brushed her lips with a thumb.

She smiled, and kissed his thumb. "Then I have to take YOU into custody, Tony, since I have the only pair of handcuffs," she teased again. "Unless, of course, you're too tired from spending the night on the floor with me." She grabbed his wrist, and quickly pinned it to the cabinet.

"I'm tired, Brynja," he twisted out of her grasp just as quickly, and snaked his good arm around her waist, pulling her TO him, "I'm not dead!" His face ducked down to meet hers. "Good luck attaching the cuffs, little girl," he growled softly. "I have you outweighed by at least 100 lbs."

"Americans," she sighed mockingly, "always thinking size matters." She traced the outside of his lips with a fingernail, arching her back to look up at his face. Her voice became playfully threatening. "So, I have to rough you up a little. I'm the bad cop, remember?"

He moved, quickly, pinning her hips to the counter with his body. He was REALLY wishing he hadn't worn briefs! "I'm ok with playing both roles, Brynja," his voice was ragged, "but you're welcome to try." His mouth hovered over hers, and his free hand found the back of her head.

She twisted her head out of his hand, her lips finding his ear. "Tony," she moaned.

The phone rang, startling them both. Tony glanced over at it briefly, face flushed, and then back at Brynja. His breathing was still labored, she saw, and his pulse was actually elevated. "That could be Gibbs," he suggested, panting.

She shook her head. "No. Gibbs would use the cell; it's Grendel. I don't care," she continued, grabbing his lapel with both hands, "if he won't let us out, let him listen. He'll never have this much, for all that we've been hunting each other for years." The answering machine kicked on, and her mouth came within millimeters of his. "Let him know what he missed," she groaned.

"HANDS OFF, PLAYBOY, THAT'S MINE," roared the werewolf voice. "GET YOUR OWN! YOU WHORE! YOU WANT ATTENTION? YOU'RE GOING TO GET PLENTY! THERE'S CONSEQUENCES FOR CROSSING ME! I TOLD YOU TO STAY!"

Bryjna put a hushing finger on Tony's mouth, and winked. He breathed deeply, calming himself. Brynja turned to the bug.

"Temper, temper, Grendel! You told me to stay, and I _did_. You didn't say what I could and couldn't _do_, or with whom," she taunted. "You think I'll wait for you forever? Three years we've been hounding one another, and you never CALLED me until last night. I met Tony only yesterday, and thanks to YOU, we got to spend the NIGHT together on the FLOOR. If you don't like who I'm sleeping with, remember YOU set it up!"

"Possession is nine-tenths of the law, you bastard!" yelled Tony. "You snooze, you lose! The woman is mine!" He found her hand and squeezed it. Brynja raised an eyebrow at him, amused, and he winked at her.

"I'll deal with you later, WOP," Grendel snarled, "after I spend some quality time with my Sugar. If you're a good dog, I'll let you watch. If you're interested in what's left, you can have a turn." Tony stiffened in anger, and Brynja put a hand on his arm, calming him. "My bitch was obedient, though, and that deserves some reward. You want my leftovers, WOP? Find the old South Beach Carousel. Have a look at what's left after one of MY rides, playboy. You might want to hurry. See you tonight, Sugar."

Tony and Bryjna exchanged a grim look, and started moving. Brynja grabbed blankets and clothing, while Tony threw the cameras and bug into a plastic bag. Shoving the couch out of the way, they headed out the door.

McGee stretched and yawned, stiff with fatigue and cramps from sleeping on the floor behind his desk. Daylight was just starting to creep into the windows; he'd had four hours sleep. He'd spent the better part of the night running searches on at least four different computers, using DiNozzo's, Gibbs', and McAlister's, even though McAlister's desk was outside their bullpen, as well as his own. He had tried using Frost's, but found its language set to Icelandic.

_Better clear McAlister's first_, he thought, feeding quarters into the snack and coffee machines, _He'll throw a bigger fit than Gibbs if I don't._ Munching on a granola bar and sucking on his coffee, he bent over the older agent's monitor and started tapping. The list of transferred personnel popped up before his eyes: finished, dated, and even collated for him. _God, I love these military programs_, he thought as he printed it out, _sometimes all that red tape does come in handy._

He cleared the screen and headed over to Gibb's desk. Pictures of the battle group in different ports were still coming up; if it hadn't been for the grim nature of the search, he would have enjoyed some of the scenery. Some pictures featured the carrier alone, others the frigates hovering nearby, several times different pleasure craft surrounded them like minnows. Blue, orange, white, and even pink sails stood out like flowers against the battle gray; occasional fishing boats cut across their path as well. McGee found one really good shot of a glossy black ship with three masts, sails furled, and whistled in appreciation. _I bet the Boss will be able to tell me what it is, at least, even if I can't see the name. It's a beauty, _he thought, as he sorted the photos into a folder, and then saved it. Walking over to DiNozzo's computer, he toggled the mouse to re-activate the screen. _Of course: ignore it for a minute and it goes right to sleep, _he grumbled to himself. He was busy sorting news articles and pictures into another folder, and didn't hear Gibbs walk up behind him.

"DiNozzo'll have a hemorrhage if he finds out you used his computer, McGee," said the senior agent, "unless, of course, you found something really good to redeem yourself with. Which is nothing compared to what I'll do if you locked my unit up again. What have you got?"

"A stiff neck, a lot of useful-for-once red tape, some great pictures of boats-your unit, Boss, and now some transcripts and news articles from Scotland Yard." Gibbs eyebrows went up, so he continued "They did the investigation and prosecution of the Edinborough College Fraternity rapes seven years ago, the one Frost pushed to close when she was still in college. I had a hunch that there was more than one tie-in to this case, it was just…"

"Too odd to be a coincidence, and therefore not a coincidence. Good work, McGee. Find anything interesting?" The silver-haired agent walked back to his own desk and sat down, gulping his coffee. He'd spent the night in the lab, keeping Abby safe, even though she insisted it wasn't necessary.

McGee shook his head. "Still working on it, Boss." He stopped sorting for a moment, his eyebrows rising. "Huh. She was kind of cute."

_He's turning into another Tony_, sighed Gibbs inwardly. "Who, McGee?" he asked out loud.

McGee glanced over at his boss, knowing the older man probably wouldn't really be interested in what he thought was pretty, and answered anyway. "Frost. There's a picture of her on the witness stand here. She would have been about 22 or 23, I think."

"Caption?"

"Yes, but…" the young computer tech peered closer, "they don't name her for some reason, unless this Nordic word is her name." He enlarged the picture a few times, and peered closer as Gibbs walked back over. The older man squinted, then pulled out his glasses and put them on.

"Yep, that's her Icelandic name: Sykurhjupa." Gibbs scowled at the picture for a moment, his mind working. "Can you find me any pictures of other people involved or connected to the trial: friends, family, or maybe witnesses for the defense? I'd like to cross-reference any such people against American Naval personnel, if you can."

"Already on it, Boss. I had a feeling you would want something like that. Here's the transfer records you asked for, too," McGee said, handing Gibbs the sheaf of papers he had printed off of McAlister's terminal. "How's Abby?"

"Asleep," Gibbs grunted. "I finally made her lie down in her waiting room a few hours ago. It took that long for the CafPows to wear off." _Not to mention the adrenaline_ he mused, mentally feeling his metaphorical ass for the missing chunk. Abby had chewed him out royally. "Any word from DiNozzo or Frost?"

"None," scowled McGee. "I thought they would have called by now, but maybe they're still asleep. Do you think they'll be able to leave Frost's place without the perp's say-so?"

Gibbs scowled as well. "Maybe, maybe not. There wasn't a timeline left in the message: just that order to stay the night. There's probably other cameras so he can watch her, make sure she obeys."

"Or worse," added McGee.

"Power and control, McGee," Gibbs said. "This bastard lives for it. Giving up his current hostages, if he really does it, means he has an even more complicated plan. He means to take Frost out from under our noses. You have her phone tapped yet?"

"Did that first thing last night, Boss, when you came back with Abby. I have an id on the phone he called from, too. You'll never guess who it's registered to," he said, shaking his head.

"Actually, Elf Lord, I think I can. The one thing we didn't find at Captain Jenkin's house was a cell phone. Was the caller using it?"

"Yes," nodded McGee, "but not from inside the carrier. The GPS co-ordinates had it further down the wharf. There's been a lot of movement there; I don't think I can pinpoint its current location again, unless our alpha is stupid enough to use it again. It's off now," he explained, seeing Gibbs' face. "As cunning as he's been for the last three years, I don't think he's going to slip up now without some serious provocation."

Gibbs gulped his coffee. "DiNozzo has a master's degree in that," he commented dryly, "keep me posted." He walked over to his own desk and toggled his computer mouse, intent on checking his email. Instead of his usual sailboat screensaver, however, a black triple-mast schooner popped up, sails furled, framed nicely against a steep-set Mediterranean villa. "Wow," he exclaimed in admiration, "VERY nice. You still need this shot, McGee, or are you done? I think I want this for a screensaver."

"What?" said McGee, looking up from his computer screen, forehead crinkled in concentration. "Oh, right, the boat. Nah, I'm done with it. It was part of Frost's collection; I thought you would like it: that's all. Just minimize it and I'll help you save it later."

"Yeah. Thanks, McGee." Gibbs minimized the picture, and opened his email account. The usual assortment popped up: sensitivity training notices _(ugh_), lecture opportunities (_bah),_ changes in availability for the shooting range (_must check that out), _upcoming company picnic (_as if),_ minutes from the last Task Force meeting (_I was there, why do I need the minutes_), something titled 'YOU COULDN'T' with a paper clip (_what?)._ He frowned. There was a 'No Reply' in place of the sender's id; he knew the paperclip signaled some sort of attachment, and clicking on it was risky, but hey, that's why virus scan existed. _Still,_ he thought, _better safe than sorry. No such thing as coincidence, "_McGee?"

"Just a minute, Boss," came the tense reply, "Captain Jenkins' cell phone is on again; our Alpha is talking to Frost." McGee scowled at his computer, "almost got it… Yes! Same position as last night; the bastard hasn't moved! Way to go, Tony!"

Gibbs was already on his feet, "Position, McGee?"

McGee typed even faster, and transferred his map to the big screen. "Same wharf as our battle group, but a different dock. Looks almost a half a mile south. He's on another boat, Boss!"

"Can you see which one?" Gibbs yelled, reaching to shut down his email with one hand, while grabbing his sidearm and badge with the other. He clicked his mouse…on the wrong spot.

"Not without a satellite, and that'll take too long," answered McGee, also reaching for his badge and gun. "I'll get the truck," he offered, heading for the elevator.

Gibbs had frozen.

"Boss?" called McGee. When Gibbs didn't reply, he walked back to the older man's desk. "Boss? What is it? Aren't we leaving for _?" The question died on his lips as he rounded Gibbs' desk and caught sight of his monitor. "Oh, god."

It was a picture of Frost, head back and eyes closed in her own shower, her nude form mostly obscured by steam. A black bull's eye had been drawn over her forehead, and beneath the target red ink formed hand-scrawled words:

**YOU COULDN'T PROTECT YOUR OWN!**

**YOU THINK YOU CAN STOP ME?**

"Shit," breathed Gibbs. "SHIT!" He started moving for the elevator, nearly running over MaGee in the process. "THEY'RE TARGETED! We have to get to Frost's place, NOW. Get DiNozzo on the line!"

"Already on it, Boss," came the terse reply once they were in the elevator, "but he's not answering his cell."

Gibbs and McGee bypassed the truck when they got to the garage, heading instead for Gibb's car. MaGee tried calling both DiNozzo's and Frost's cell phones, with no success. It wasn't until Gibbs had pulled onto the public street, tires screeching, that his cell phone came to life. He yanked it off his belt, swerving to avoid an illegally parked car, and shouted into it.

"DiNozzo! Where the hell have you been? You and Frost have to evacuate; I'm inbound now with McGee for backup _" a female voice said something he couldn't understand, and he paused for a second. "Frost? Where's DiNozzo?"

"He's driving, Gibbs, now SHUT UP! We are SOUTHBOUND on the BELTWAY, heading for something called the South Beach Carousel. Do you know the place?"

"Yeah I know it!" He and Shannon had taken Kelly there when she was little. "What the hell's going on?"

"Grendel called: he left the girls there for us to pick up. If you're headed to my place, then you're going the wrong way. Get turned around now, and meet us there!"

"NO! DO NOT PROCEED WITHOUT BACKUP," yelled Gibbs, "IT'S A TRAP!" but the line was already dead. He tossed the phone into McGee's lap with a terse "Get her back on", and made a sharp left turn. Soon they were speeding down the beltway, passing cars like they were standing still, Gibbs trying to catch DiNozzo, all the while knowing it was futile: the man could DRIVE.

McGee glanced at his boss, worried. There was no answer from either cell again. "Fine," he muttered, switching to his keyboard and typing. "No answer again, Boss, so I'm sending Tony a text message. He'll get his phone back before he exits the car; hopefully he'll check it."

"Hopefully he won't get shot before he can," growled Gibbs as he passed another car.

Tony glanced quickly in the rear-view mirror, then back to the highway in front of him. He was already pushing 80 mph, and traffic was beginning to be a problem. "What did Gibbs say?"

Brynja pulled her arms out of her shirt; she had just been putting on her bra without undressing. She glanced up at Tony, and their eyes met briefly in the rear-view mirror. She scowled at him. "Eyes front, DiNozzo. Thank you." She performed a complicated maneuver, changing into a V-neck pullover without exposing herself. "Gibbs said he knows the place. I think he also tried to tell us not to go, but I didn't stay on the line that long." She picked up his phone again. "Yes, he's tried to call again, and now there's a text message from him as well." She glanced at the back of his head. "Do you think we should wait to connect with them, before trying to secure the girls? It might be only a few minutes, if he drives anything like you do."

Grim-faced, Tony shook his head. "No. He likes to keep his victims naked. It was only 45 degrees out last night; they might not have the extra minutes left. He doesn't have to kill them directly; they can just die of exposure." He exchanged another grim look with the now-dressed Brynja, and stepped on the accelerator.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Tony's car bucked over several speed bumps, heading for the park fence gate. The chain links were closed with a chain and padlock. "HANG ON!" he shouted, and hit the accelerator again. Brynja ducked down in the backseat, and Tony tensed as they crashed through it, the gate twisting around the car as it fell. Speeding through empty carnival stalls, he slammed on the brakes in front of the empty, faded carousel, and both he and Brynja bailed out of the car, guns drawn. Heads turning, eyes searching, they walked in opposite directions around the empty ride, checking around it, on it, under it, for any sign of a child. Tony finally found her handcuffed to the underside of one of the horses: naked, bleeding, and shivering.

"Brynja! I've got one! Get a blanket and my tool box from the glove compartment!" he shouted, holstering his gun. Reaching for the child's face, he touched her gently; her skin was cold to the touch, but she still had a pulse. She cracked her eyes open, and her face contorted in terror when she saw him.

"No mas, por favor no mas! Estoy buena, estoy buena!" She started to cry. "No mas! No mas!"

"BRYNJA! HURRY UP," he bellowed, then turned to the terrified child. "Paz, Querida. Estoy policio. Estas seguro. Nadian ve a se molestas otra ves. Chist." He lay his hand on her cold face, murmuring condolences in Spanish. Brynja reached his side a moment later with the toolbox and blanket, which she quickly wrapped around the shivering child. Tony pulled a small screwdriver from the box, and in a few moments freed her from the handcuffs. "Venga conmigo, Querida. Vamanos al hospital." Brynja helped him carefully pull the shivering child out from beneath the sculptured horse, and the little girl finally caught sight of Brynja's face. Brown eyes flew open.

"!Es ella: la bruja! La Desiera del Diablo! Ayudame, Maria!" The child broke down sobbing, and threw her arms around Tony's neck. "NO, NO, NO!"

Tony sat down with the child on his lap, and Brynja helped wrap the blanket around her more securily. "I couldn't find another child, Tony, but she has to be here somewhere. What is she saying?" asked Brynja tersely. "Can she tell us where the other girl is?"

Tony's face was a mask; he was obviously fighting several violent emotions at once. "She calls you the Witch, the Desired of the Devil, and begs Saint Mary to save her." He began to rub, gently but briskly, the girl's arms and legs through the blanket, trying to restore circulation. "No esta una bruja, Querida. Este es una policia tambien, como yo, conmigo. Ella se llama Brynja, y me llamo Tony." He cradled the sobbing girl, rocking her awkwardly in his lap. "Chist, chist. Esta' seguro ahorra. Querida, nececitamos ser: hay otra? Hay otra contiga?" The girl looked up at his face, hiccuped once, and nodded. "Sabes que donde esta'?

She pulled out one shivering arm, and pointed to the carousel. "Fue en el otro lado en la noche, pero ahorra no se'."

Tony looked up at Brynja. "She says the other girl was on the other side last night, but now she doesn't know."

Brynja nodded and stood up. "Get her into the car, Tony, and turn on the heat. I'll check the other side of the carousel. And call Gibbs!" she shouted as she sprinted off.

Tony lifted the tiny figure easily, and his long legs carried them both swiftly to the car. He placed the girl in the front passenger seat, started the ignition, and cranked up the heat. The child, for her part, curled up inside the warm interior, grateful for the heat. Tony grabbed his cell, and punched Gibbs' speed dial. The older man picked up on the first ring.

"DiNozzo! Where are you?" Gibbs demanded. "I'm almost at the park entrance now!"

"Already there, Boss! We have one survivor so far, and she needs a medic right away. She has evidence of abuse, as well as hypothermia. We're continuing the search. Watch the gate; we crashed through it."

"WATCH YOUR SIX," Gibbs bellowed. "THIS BASTARD HAS BRYNJA TARGETED! HE EMAILED ME THIS MORNING!"

DiNozzo swore under his breath, not wanting to frighten the child further. "Understood!" Snapping his phone closed, he turned to the shivering girl. "Querida: necesito ver. Segura bajo, me entiendes?" She nodded, and ducked down further into her blanket. "Bien." Grabbing the keys, he retrieved the automatic door lock and secured the vehicle. Sweeping the yard with his eyes, he spotted Gibbs car charging through the gate in a cloud of dust; Brynja was nowhere to be seen, so he started running around the opposite side of the carousel. Then he heard her shout.

"TONY!"

Brynja watched Tony carefully bear the abused child to the car, then returned to the carousel. She walked quickly around the other side, scanning under each unicorn and prancing pony, until she finally found another set of handcuffs under one of them.

They were empty.

Raising her head, Brynja quickly scanned her surroundings for other people, and saw no one. Crouching down, she grabbed a stick and pulled the cuffs out from under the painted circus animal, being careful not to touch them with her fingers. They were still closed. Peering closer, she saw traces of blood and skin on the cuffs, as if scraped off, and caught her breath. "Good girl!" she breathed, and started peering at the floor of the ride. Tiny drops of blood made a trail off the metal platform, and in one spot she found a small footprint in the dirt. Taking a knee to the ground, she looked long and hard at the direction the small prints led. Other prints, larger and obviously shoed, mixed in with the smaller, making tracking difficult, but not impossible. Checking her perimeter with every few steps, Brynja followed the child's footprints away from the carousel. They seemed to head in a straight line toward a small stand of brush, once obviously a garden spot.

Brynja continued to follow the trail of prints and blood, but cautiously. Children, she knew, didn't normally follow straight paths. Their natural curiosity made them wander. This child, however, was under duress, naked and cold, and would have headed towards the nearest available cover: possibly the long grass and brush. Brynja broke into a run, head down, following the trail, until she came to the overgrown garden spot, where she crouched.

A bloody child's hand had made a print as it had crawled into the nearest nest. Squatting down, Brynja carefully parted the grass and saplings, scanning the undergrowth for the child until she finally found her, huddled under a mass of grass and leaves, eyes wide. Brynja held out a hand, wracking her memory for Tony's Spanish only moments before.

"Seguro. Venga conmigo. Policio. Vamanos al hospital. Seguro," she soothed, not really knowing what she was saying, but remembering that those words had calmed the other girl. This child, however, shook her head, wide eyed, and panted with fear. "You're safe. We're police. I'm here to help you." Pausing, Brynja removed the jacket she had just slipped on, and offered it to the shivering girl. "Here, put this on. It's warm." The girl shrank back, eyes wide, shaking her head, and her eyes slipped upwards twice. Brynja froze, and it was then that she noticed the clean marks on some of the grass bedding.

It was freshly cut.

Muscles already pumped with adrenaline, Brynja jumped up and backwards: somersaulting out of the brush. The child screamed in fear, and another sound came out of the garden knoll: a growl of hate and frustration. Rolling in the dirt, Brynja brought her body back into a combat crouch just as a huge, black-haired man, wearing loose white Navy pants and a T-shirt, came crashing through the brush waving a machete. He swung it like a sword, aiming for her body, but she dodged it easily and he swung too far. Swinging hard, Brynja slammed a hard fist into his kidney. He grunted with the force of the blow, but came back with his elbow and the machete again, snarling. She knocked the second machete swipe aside, ducked under it again, and delivered several more sharp blows to his solar plexus, rib cage, and throat. "TONY!" she yelled, as she stepped in again, this time delivering a hard palm up and into his nose, breaking it. The large man's hand loosened on the machete, and he dropped it, tripping over it a little as he managed to grab her hair. He yanked her head back, and his free hand grabbed her by the throat, pulling her face close to his. He licked her face.

"Bitch," he growled, "I'm gonna enjoy this."

"Me, too," she rasped, and with her lower hand grabbed his testicles, PINCHED, and TWISTED. A high-pitched scream gurgled from his throat, and he released her hair, dropping in agony. Brynja released her claw-grip, and then jumped, kicking him in the face. His head snapped back with the force of the blow, but he recovered, found his feet, and came for her again. A heavy fist sailed just past her face; Brynja blocked, stepped in, and punched him in the chest.

She broke his sternum.

The color drained from his face, and he dropped to his knees, gasping for air and grabbing his chest. He clawed desperately for the machete, but Brynja kicked it out of his reach and stomped on his hand, crushing it. She kicked him in the ribs hard enough to make them crack, and he fell completely to the ground, groaning in agony. She drew back to hit him again, but heard someone shout her name. Looking up, she saw Gibbs standing next to Tony.

"Brynja, ENOUGH," the older man shouted. "Where's the other girl?"

Brynja, chest heaving, looked at Gibbs for a moment as if he was a stranger, then stepped warily away from the man moaning on the ground. Her eyes narrowed for a moment as she looked at them both.

"Brynja, did you find the other girl?" Tony yelled, trying desperately to meet her eyes. He finally did, and the ice was gone. Viking bloodlust filled them instead. "Brynja?"

She blinked and nodded, and her eyes returned something close to normal. "Jacket. I need another one, and a blanket. She's in here," she motioned to the thicket, "he had her hidden. I don't know if she understands me or not." She motioned to the giant on the ground, "Enough? Not near enough, but I can stop for now."

Gibbs nodded, stripping off his jacket and handing it to Brynja. "Here, cover her up. DiNozzo, get another blanket from the car. I have an ambulance on the way, and some MP's. We'll transport the girls ourselves." He stepped in closer to Brynja, who still hadn't moved, and touched her lightly on the upper arm. "Hey. Frost." She twitched away from him, but her eyes, still a little crazed, locked into his. "Nice work."

She nodded and blinked again, and more sanity returned. "Thanks," she said, and took the jacket into the brush. She emerged a moment later cradling the second child, who had wrapped her small arms tightly around Brynja's neck.

"El Diablo dice que tu' venge. Yo quiere que tu' venge. Yo le quiere," the girl murmured over and over, burrowing into the warmth of the jackets enveloping her. Halfway to the car, DiNozzo met them both with another blanket, which he wrapped snugly around the shivering child, taking her from Brynja's straining arms.

In the distance, sirens wailed.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Brynja paced in the hospital waiting room, head down, arms closed around her body. Emergency room medics attended the girls she and Tony had brought in, and she knew these people knew their jobs, but waiting was still an agony. Tony either stood at the waiting room window or sat in a chair. He disappeared completely once, returning fifteen minutes later from the hospital cafeteria with coffee, tea, and breakfast wraps. Brynja chewed the odd foods silently, thanking Tony with her eyes, and oddly wished for her computer. She wanted desperately to throw herself back into the case, give herself something to do, anything but this damned maddening, silent waiting.

Tony watched her pace from his seat. He was worried about the girls' condition too, but he knew they were in good hands. Right now he was more worried about Brynja; she had just become the bastard's target, and in her current state she was too distracted. They had to be careful. Her face changed suddenly, as did her physical direction; she headed for the elevator, and Tony quickly moved to stop her. He put a long arm between her and the door before it could open, and he heard the sharp intake of breath. She hadn't heard him coming. Tony's serious eyes found her ice blues: distracted and disturbed.

"Whatever you think you need right now, you don't," he said firmly. "You know he wants you next."

She drew in a ragged breath. "I know. It's just this waiting: the not knowing. I'm not worried for myself," she explained, "I've known for a while how this would end, but seeing the girls like this, finding them alive, it's just," she paused, searching for the right words, but came up empty.

"It's hard. You're used to dealing with bodies, not living victims. Seeing their pain is different," he nodded, "and it should be. But don't let him shake you out of your game. You have to be the better predator now. It's your move."

She nodded. "You're right." She sighed, and leaned back against the wall, folding her arms across her body again. "I just wish I had something to do, something to focus on. Either that or a speed bag," she said wistfully, "sometimes working out makes me feel better, too. Especially when I can beat the _fylling_ out of something," she said, punching the air in front of her. She and Tony started walking back towards the waiting room.

"Speaking of THAT," Tony said, sounding incredulous, "how did you manage to break that bastard earlier? I heard his breastbone crack 10 feet away!"

She hesitated, "I can tell you, but I don't think you'll believe me. Oh, don't try to lie out of it," she waved a hand at his face impatiently, "I saw the look on your face yesterday morning, when I told the lot of you how I escaped in Izmir. You thought I was lying. Now you know differently. I could have killed him just as I could have killed Grendel's stand-in this morning. Not that it didn't cross my mind," she added hurriedly, "but I can't interrogate a corpse, and unless Gibbs has supernatural powers, he can't either."

"So?" he prompted.

They had reached the chairs again. She sighed as she sat down. "It was something Liam taught me. Are you familiar with the OIP: the One-Inch Punch?"

Tony sat back, impressed. "Bruce Lee's specialty? Everybody knows about that, but," he paused, shaking his head, "you're way too young to have studied under Bruce Lee!"

She smiled. "I am, but Mr. Lee had students. One of those students was Liam's instructor. That man modified the OIP into something attainable within a foot or less. He taught Liam, and Liam taught me."

Tony looked at her curiously. "You were really close to him, weren't you?"

"Of course. We were a team for almost three years. He latched onto me almost as soon as I joined the squad; I had—problems—with my first three partners, but never with Liam. He was a good officer, and a good friend." She sighed. "I learned a lot of things from him."

"Like Kung Fu and talking dirty?" Tony grinned.

"And why it's SO important to knock on your partner's door before entering," she blushed a little, embarrassed at the memory. "There are some lessons I could have lived without!" She glanced at Tony's face, and his eyes were wide mock horror. "Liam forgave me, of course. He knew it was an accident, but Willem-his partner-wouldn't look me in the eyes for a long time. He was really angry."

"You walked in on them when they were mid-," he started, then realized what he was about to say, "Oh. OOOW! That had to be uncomfortable."

"Yes."

Tony grimaced and squirmed in his seat. Something else had occurred to him, and for all his normal trash talk, he felt suddenly uneasy. _What's wrong with you, DiNozzo_? he asked himself,_ if this were Kate or Ziva, you wouldn't hesitate like this. Maybe that's it: this isn't your partner you're talking to. Maybe it's the nature of the op. Maybe…_

"Tony?" Brynja was looking at him oddly. "What is it?" He looked her in the eyes, and felt his face flaming. For some reason, he actually felt _guilty_. He looked at the table between them for a moment, thinking. "You thought of something," she pressed, "I can see it in your face. What?"

He took a breath. "Liam. You said he was gay. Um, how gay was he?"

She sat back and gave him a LOOK. "What kind of question is that?"

"I mean, was he totally, exclusively homosexual, or was he bi?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward, peering into his face. Comprehension suddenly opened her features. "You want to know if I slept with him or not."

"Did you?"

"No." She gave him another LOOK. "Even if he hadn't been gay, I wouldn't have. Oh, we bunked together a few times, when space and budget was tight, but nothing ever happened. Liam was always strictly professional; he never crossed the line, and neither did I. We were never more than close friends, and he was in a committed relationship." She looked at him strangely. "Why?"

"Was his—partner—ever jealous?"

"Of my relationship with Liam?" Brynja frowned, sitting back and thinking. "Yes, he was. He used to give me some of the nastiest looks, especially the first year we worked together. It didn't help that I wasn't dating. He thought the worst of me for the longest time." She chewed her lip, remembering. "We finally had a long talk, and I think that settled things. I explained my situation, my relationship with Liam, and what I knew of Liam's feelings. He eventually apologized for being such an ass. We might have become friends eventually, except that Liam was killed." She shook her head. "Why does this matter?"

Tony scowled. "We may have to enlarge our circle of suspects." Brynja looked puzzled, so he continued. "Our perp—Grendel—he knows a lot about you, and he had to get it from somewhere. Think about it: he knows who you are, your Icelandic name, your address, and your phone number. He profiled you enough to predict your actions. The only way somebody could get some of this information is by talking to people who know you. People who know you and hold a grudge—all the better."

"He speaks my language, too, or at least understands some of it. That has to be worth something." Brynja chewed her bottom lip, thinking. "Captain Jenkins knew all the time. His son was one of the boys from my first case," she explained, "he died in prison, and Mrs. Jenkins committed suicide just last year. I used to get a lot of hate mail from the other boys' families, but that eventually quit. I suspect the prosecutor intervened, because it all just," she brought her hands together in a closing motion, "quit. Grendel could be someone from that group, or connected to it. I bet Scotland Yard could help us identify some of the family members. I have some friends there, too."

Tony nodded. "If we thought of it, Gibbs did, and if Gibbs thought of it, then he already has McGee working on it. Willem should be checked out, too."

"Grendel may have taken advantage of his grief," offered Brynja, nodding.

"Yes. Then there's your boss and your ex-partners: the ones you had before Liam. We should go over those as well. Any ex-boyfriends? Those could be important, too." Tony's face was serious.

Brynja shook her head. "No, that record is clean. I haven't dated since," she paused, thinking, "before this case started. No, change that: I haven't dated since just before my roommate's attack, almost 9 years ago. Daniel doesn't really count." Tony's eyebrows had gone up in disbelief. "What?"

"Nine years? And in all that time you haven't," Tony began incredulously, but Brynja interrupted him. 

"That's my business, Agent DiNozzo," she snapped. "Need to know only. And nothing about this case will change that." Her eyes had frozen over again, and Tony swore he could feel the air cool around him.

"Sorry, I," he stammered, backing off, "I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just, surprised; that's all," he offered lamely. "I mean, looking at you, and this morning, and, well," her eyes were getting even colder. "It never occurred to me that you hadn't, you know, been with anybody recently. I kinda take that for granted." Her face twitched almost imperceptively, but Tony caught it, and suddenly things started clicking in his mind: 'freshman', 'polar opposites', and her 'situation'. "OH! Oh, god. I'm sorry." He felt his face burn, and stood up to cover his embarrassment. "Shutting up now." He walked to the opposite wall, and leaned against it, feeling foolish.

Brynja leaned back against the wall behind her, and a frustrated growl came from her throat. "I am so sick of this," she muttered. She raised her voice deliberately. "It isn't a dirty word, **Agent** DiNozzo, or a communicable **disease**, or a **handicap**. There's nothing **wrong** with me." She glared at him from across the hallway. "It also isn't something you're free to laugh about with your buddies over coffee or bourbon. I'll take great **personal** offense if you fail to be professional, and you already know what I can do."

Tony felt **slapped**, and not on the back of the head, either. "Hey! I never **said** any of that, or even **implied** it," he retorted, "and I wouldn't **do** that to you, either." He walked back to the chair facing her, and sat down again, looking into openly hostile eyes. "What you do, or **not** do, in your personal life is your business. What you choose to **share** is your business. I'm just," he paused, looking for the right word, then settled on something easy, "really surprised!" He glanced down at the table, remembering his arousal during their earlier drama, suddenly uncomfortable again.

"Because of our play-acting this morning?" Her face suddenly relaxed with amusement. "I should let you in on a few trade secrets, then." She leaned forward again, and dropped her voice to a husky whisper. "You may want to write this down, just so you don't forget it." Her shapely lips seemed to wrap themselves around every consonant.

Tony leaned forward, fascinated by her sudden sultriness. "And that is?"

"One: I don't have to have **sex**, to be very, very **sexy**. Two: Don't mistake virginity for ignorance **or** innocence. I have nothing of the latter," she explained in a normal tone, sitting back, "so you don't have to be so worried about my feelings while on the job."

Tony took a calming breath and sat up. His head was still spinning a little. "Meaning?" he grunted.

Brynja closed her eyes and shook her head. "Men." She leaned forward again. "Meaning, Agent DiNozzo, that we're hunting a narcissistic psychopathic **sex** criminal. I need you to THINK like him, maybe even TALK like him, in order to CATCH him. Can you do that?"

Tony's eyes narrowed, suddenly wary. "_You've_ been hunting him for three years. Why suddenly me and not you?"

"Because _you_ have a testosterone, Tony, and I don't. Our gender differences may make all the difference in the world here. Now, can you think, and talk, like a totally self-absorbed, psychotically horny bastard, or not? Because if you CAN'T, I'm sure I can get Gibbs to—"

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm on the job!" exclaimed Tony. "You came to the right agent!"

"Good boy," Brynja praised him silkily, nodding. "And if you're especially good, I'll let you see a picture of me posing as a French Dominatrix." Tony's eyes widened again in surprise, and she shrugged. "Liam and I took down a pornographic slave ring in Paris a few years back. I was undercover," she grinned wickedly, "and the black leather outfit contrasted best with my hair."

Tony groaned, and dropped his head into his hands. "I can't believe it. You can do all this, and you're still-How?" he looked at her again, dumbfounded.

She shrugged. "No big secret. I just never fell in love. At least, not far enough to make me want to take the next step. My last serious boyfriend," her face sobered suddenly, and he saw pain with the memory, "raped my roommate at a party. I was supposed to be on that date," she told him, "but I was sick that night. She went with him just to go out for once, and," her eyes misted a little, "they destroyed her. I haven't had much time or desire for romance since then. I know all men aren't to blame, it's just-hard. I can't really explain it," she offered.

"That's survivor's guilt," Tony explained, a calculating look creeping into his face. "Grendel knows you feel responsible for what happened to someone else in your stead. That's why he's willing to use innocents to get to you. It isn't about them, it's about hurting you."

"Go on," Brynja's eyes narrowed.

Tony took a breath, and his eyes searched nothingness. "Innocents: his victims are innocents. And virginal," he added, looking at her, "so he at least suspects that as well. He wants to make you suffer, establish himself as your master. He promised to make you scream," he pointed out, "in the first call last night."

The hair on Brynja's neck started to stand up. "Why, Tony? Why does it matter if my first time is also my last, if he's going to torture me to death?"

Tony looked even more distant, and his face grew hard, cold. "He wants you to feel pain, something very personal. He thinks you owe him for something, some disloyalty, some debt or betrayal. Your enjoying life at all, especially sexually, is just unacceptable. He wants you ruined, not just dead. And you're right," he looked at her coldly, "he means to make it torture. You won't die for a long time, if he gets his hands on you."

"How is he going to do that, Tony?" she asked softly, and touched his hand. He jumped. "How is he going to get me away from you, from NCIS? That's what we have to figure out next, I think."

He nodded, gagging a little. "Welcome to my world, Tony DiNozzo," she said softly.

They were still there an hour later when Gibbs showed up with McGee, and Tony looked green in the face. "Hi, Boss," he said, standing up quickly, "if you'll excuse me, I need to use the head." Gibbs nodded and stepped aside, then sat down after the tall agent left.

McGee glanced at Brynja, then Gibbs. "Boss, I'll be right back," he said, then followed Tony to the men's room. Gibbs nodded and watched him leave, then turned silently to Brynja. He sipped his usual coffee, and set it down on the table.

"Any word on the girls?" he finally opened.

She shook her head. "The doctors here haven't told us much. I don't know if that's good or bad." She scowled. "The perp: will he live?"

He nodded, eyebrows rising. "Yes, but he won't be conscious for a while. He's in surgery also at Bethesda—our Naval Hospital—and won't be talking for a while. You shouldn't have gone in without backup," he said sternly. "It could be you on the table, instead of this Grendel character."

She looked up quickly. "That wasn't—isn't—Grendel, Agent Gibbs. That monstrosity was just a stand-in, perhaps one of his gang. Tony and I have been profiling Grendel for the last hour, and I'm certain the man arrested this morning isn't him," she explained.

Gibbs' eyes narrowed. "What makes you so sure? This Grendel promised to take you after you got to play the hero this morning; the timing is just right."

She shook her head. "The attack was too simple, too crude, and poorly planned. Grendel is a true human monster: sinister, thinking, and patient. He may have been watching, to get an idea of my fighting style, but he wasn't there. Or at least," she paused, "he wasn't our perp at the park."

Gibbs nodded thoughtfully. "So the stand-in may have been an acceptable sacrifice to gain more intel on you, OR," he paused, and held up a finger, "a distraction, to make us think we have our bad guy."

"And so let down our guard. Or more correctly, MY guard," finished Brynja. "So that I would leave the NCIS umbrella."

"Like this morning" growled Gibbs, "when you hung up on me? I was trying to send you both a warning. Your Grendel emailed me this morning. I knew you were in danger, but you wouldn't let me finish, and you could have been shot or stabbed to death because of it."

"That was my call, Boss," offered Tony as he walked back into the waiting room with McGee. "Brynja caught the attempted warning, and told me about it. I made the decision to go ahead and rescue the girls, not her," Gibbs looked up at Tony, surprise mixing with annoyance (and a little pride). "I knew how cold it was last night, and figured the girls could die of exposure if we waited too long, so I made the call to go in."

"Which turned out to be the right decision," intoned an older Chinese man in surgical garb, stepping into the discussion. "Doctor Cho Fen, pediatric surgeon, officers. Who is in charge here?"

Gibbs and Brynja exchanged a look, and she gave him an imperceptible nod. "This is a joint operation, Doctor," offered Gibbs, "multiple departments: I'm Agent Gibbs, and these are agents DiNozzo and McGee with NCIS. This is Officer Frost, with Interpol—"

"And FBI, too, Jethro," said Fornell, walking up. "Don't leave us out of the game. What can you tell us, Doctor Cho?"

"We need to retire to a conference room, officers. This discussion is of a delicate nature, and confidentiality must be considered. The girls', not yours," the doctor noted, seeing their faces. They all nodded, and followed the diminutive man to another room, where they found chairs and a door to shut.

"First, let me reiterate what I just told Agent Gibbs, here," began Dr. Cho. "The decision to secure the girls against exposure was correct. They could have gone into shock and possibly died soon, if they had not been made warm. On top of that, treating their injuries has been a challenge. The girls have both been savagely whipped, suffering lacerations that had to be stitched up. I found burn marks indicative of some sort of electrical device, perhaps a cattle prod." Several agents swore loudly. "Finally, they were forcibly and repeatedly raped, possibly by more than one assailant, although I'm waiting for the lab work to confirm that. Internal damage was extensive. The girls have had emergency surgery to repair tearing to internal organs and stop bleeding, but that might not be enough. They'll probably need more in the years to come, just to live normal lives. As for normal fertility," the old man shrugged, and his body began to shake, "we'll have to wait and see. Lady, gentlemen, from the rest of the hospital staff, I have a request." The surgeon gripped the table in front of him, and his knuckles turned white.

"Name it, Doctor," said a white-faced Gibbs. Around him, Frost, Fornell, DiNozzo and McGee all nodded.

"Don't bother arresting this piece of filth, if you can catch him," snapped the old man, "kill him. He is a disgrace to humanity."

"I'll do my best, Doctor," offered Brynja softly. The old surgeon looked steadily into her eyes, and then nodded.

"I believe you," he said, then looked at the silent, grim faces of the other officers in the room. "All of you. I know you will do your best." He sighed.

Gibbs cleared his throat, "Doctor, I hate to ask, but when-?"

"The anaesthetic won't wear off fully for several hours, Agent Gibbs. You won't be able to speak to the children before this evening, if then." He held up his hands. "I know you need to get as much information as possible, officers, but the human body can only take so much before it shuts down. These girls have been through hell; bringing them back has been nothing short of a miracle, and their recovery is uncertain. I can call you when they become coherent, if that happens. In the meantime, is there any chance their attacker might try to seek them out again, while they are here?"

"That's always a possibility, Doctor," offered Fornell, "but we can leave agents to keep watch. Between our respective departments, I'm sure we can set up good security, right Jethro? Frost?"

Gibbs nodded, but Brynja frowned. "I'll have to call my supervisor here in the states to confirm that, gentlemen," she explained. "I don't have that kind of authority. I believe it would be in the girls' best interest if the FBI and NCIS took the lead on security, since we are on your soil."

"Doctor Cho, Agent Fornell and I will hand-pick the girls' security teams. We won't let anything happen to them again," offered Gibbs. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have several phone calls to make."

"Of course," replied the old doctor, "and I must get back to my patients. Good day, lady and gentlemen," he bowed to them all, and left the room.

Gibbs and Fornell made their respective phone calls, and then turned back to the conference table. "Security teams will be here in 15 minutes," offered Fornell. "What then?"

"Back to my office," suggested Gibbs. "We have evidence that came in overnight that needs to be processed. Frost?"

She nodded. "That's fine with me as well. I need to see the email you mentioned, and we should all check our accounts. You might not have been the only one contacted. I've had to deal with some of this before; Grendel has a habit of taunting law enforcement."

"Grendel?" asked Fornell in surprise. "When did we get a name on this guy?"

"I called him Grendel last night," explained Brynja, "after the monster from the Beowulf myth. It seems to fit."

"I remember that movie," mused Fornell, "doesn't Beowulf rip the monster limb from limb?"

"That's the one," coughed McGee, staring at Frost. She shrugged.

Gibbs frowned appreciatively. "Nice touch, Frost."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

The elevator door opened into the NCIS headquarters, and Gibbs, Fornell, Frost, DiNozzo, and McGee filed out of it.

"McGee," called Gibbs, "I want an update on the trial information you were looking up."

"On it, Boss," said McGee, scurrying to his computer.

"DiNozzo," he handed the man a large manila folder, "coordinate with Abby, and find me an ID on Machete Man. His prints and DNA samples are in here."

"On it, Boss," said Tony, taking the envelope and heading for the elevator.

Gibbs turned to Fornell. "Tobias," he hesitated, "what brings you down here? I thought you were taking care of your imposter."

"Already done, Jethro. The prick rolled fast when I showed him Frost's photographs. Supposedly he knows nothing about the pedophile murders." Fornell gulped his coffee and sighed. "No names to share, though. Just his address and some bank account numbers." The FBI agent held out a piece of paper to Gibbs, who looked at it, grunted, and handed it to Frost. Her eyebrows rose with interest.

"That's my building, Agent Fornell," she offered. "Your doppelganger—Jarvis—is my upstairs neighbor. Have you secured and searched his apartment?" she asked, handing the paper to McGee.

"We're working on it right now—the warrants are taking a little time to process," Fornell explained. "I'm having trouble with probable cause."

"Then I can help you," she said coolly. "This man assaulted me in your building. By COINCIDENCE, he lives directly above me, and Agent DiNozzo found three surveillance devices in my apartment. The pedophile killer called me there twice, based on what HE observed and heard with that equipment." She pulled out a pen and a pad of paper, and quickly scribbled something down. "This is my current address. I would consider it a personal favor if you would secure and search my apartment for more evidence." She handed him the paper, then dug into a pocket and pulled out a key. "This unlocks the door. If you would bring me the rest of my clothing, I would appreciate it," she said, handing him the key.

"That should take care of probable cause," said Fornell. "Jethro, I'll be in touch," he lifted the key in salute, and headed for the elevator.

"Agent Gibbs, I need to see the email you mentioned earlier," insisted Frost. She saw the hesitation in his expression. "This is not a request. That email is evidence, and I need to see it."

Gibbs paused a moment, then nodded wordlessly and pulled up a chair for her. Bending over his computer, he pulled up the taunt and stepped back. Frost scrolled through it silently, her only reaction a thoughtful scowl. Eventually she sat back.

"I understand why you were alarmed this morning, Agent Gibbs. This IS disturbing, but it's nothing new." She motioned to her case file. "It's similar to many our serial killer has sent to other offices in Europe, just atypical in style."

"Why?" asked Gibbs, pulling up a chair.

Frost glanced at him. "Three reasons: this was sent electronically, the others were hardcopy; the subject in this is still living, but the other pictures were post-mortem; and finally the posing: suggestive instead of horrific." She chewed on a pen. "He's changing his game; I think the American phrase is 'kicking it up a notch'. The real target in this message is you, Agent Gibbs, not me. Grendel identifies you as the top cop, and is trying to shake you up. It's part of his pattern. Everyone should watch for such garbage from now on."

"You think he'll try to contact us again?" asked Gibbs, sitting back.

She nodded. "I do. Taunting law enforcement is one of his games."

"We call it 'sticking it to the Man'," explained Gibbs.

"Apparently, you're 'the Man'," mused Frost, "or at least, the first here. He may expand his circle. He mocked Tony this morning, calling him 'wop' and 'playboy'." She frowned. "I'm not familiar with the first term, but it seemed insulting."

"It's an ethnic insult," explained Gibbs. "Tony is Italian-American." He studied Frost's face. She appeared calm on the exterior, but he could tell something else was bothering her. She had taken a pen from his desk, and was absentmindedly chewing on one end. Her eyes flicked over different parts of the image, and her body alternated between tense and—more tense. "What is it?" He finally probed. "What else do you see?"

She glanced at him, and for a moment she looked worried. "This picture wasn't taken here, Agent Gibbs, it's from my flat in Lyon; I can tell by the tile. That makes it at least 6 weeks old, possibly older, because I am rarely there." She pressed her lips together, troubled. "That disturbs me more than the image: both my addresses are classified." She looked at Gibbs. "Only someone from my home office—in Lyon—would have access to both."

Gibbs felt a chill run down his spine. "Someone there is in league with our serial killer: another cop." He clenched his teeth. "You said you thought someone was hindering the investigation. This proves you were right."

Brynja nodded wordlessly, her eyes fixed on Grendel's last line:

**YOU THINK YOU CAN STOP ME?**

The pager on Gibbs' phone went off, making them both jump. "Yeah, Gibbs," he said, even as he closed the message and saved it. "Yeah, be right up." He turned to Frost again. "That was Director Vance. He wants us in his office." Standing, he slipped the phone back into his pocket, then headed up the stairs. Looking puzzled, Frost followed him.

Cynthia waved them both in when they reached Director Vance's door. A grave looking Vance sat behind his usual desk—even his toothpick was absent. A grimmer-looking man—tall, and Native American in his features, Gibbs thought—sat across from him. This man rose as they entered the room, his chiseled face stern.

Brynja's surprise was obvious, but she made the introduction. "NCIS Special Agent Gibbs, this is my supervisor here in the States: Lt. Howard Talon, Interpol."

The men nodded at each other, and Lt. Talon turned immediately to Frost. "Officer Frost, I'm here for your badge and gun. You are ordered to turn over all evidence and information to your replacement."

Frost stiffened. "On what grounds, sir?" she asked tersely, "and by whose authority?"

"What the hell's going on?" demanded Gibbs.

Talon glanced from Frost, to Gibbs, and back to Frost before answering. "I received the order from Lyon only three hours ago, Frost. The Director insisted I relieve you of duty, and place you on the first transport back to France, by force if necessary."

"Why?" Gibbs and Frost spoke the word together, but Director Vance cleared his throat, and all three turned to face him.

"I'll show you why," he said, turning his computer monitor towards them: a club scene paused on its screen. He pressed 'play'.

The scene came to life: the nightlife outside a bar, with people entering and exiting. The camera was obviously shooting from across the street. A couple exited the bar arm-in-arm, laughing and weaving a little: a blond and a tall man with red-gray hair. The camera zoomed in on them as they approached a car, and then again as a group of masked toughs jumped out from behind a building. A fight started, then distantly, screaming.

The picture paused again—Vance had hit the mouse—and he spoke quietly to Frost. She was bent over his desk, her hands supporting her weight, eyes closed. "This was emailed to your boss in Lyon this morning. There's a direct threat against you at the end."

"Run the tape," she rasped, and her voice caught in her throat. "Grendel just made a mistake," she said, her eyes locking into his. A chair bumped into the back of her knees, and she tottered, then sat. She looked up into Talon's impassive earthy eyes. "Thanks, Howard."

"You've seen this before?" he asked sternly.

"No," she said flatly, "I'm in it." She turned back to the frozen screen. "This is my partner's murder in Spain three years ago." She looked up at Director Vance. "When local police tried to prosecute, they couldn't find any witnesses other than me, much less videotape, and the case went cold. This cameraman whispered a few words just as I started screaming. The video camera's on-board microphone caught it. It's only a few words, but…"

"VRT can sort it out," finished Vance. "I'll send this down to Abby right away. She'll be able to isolate the sounds. Can you identify the speaker?"

"Yes. I can arrange a voice-print to match it, if we call my Lyon office," she said with some bitterness. The three men exchanged a look, which she caught. "I told you when I came here, Director, that someone was hindering this investigation. This voiceprint is proof, and there's more downstairs. There's an accomplice, and the suikari just revealed himself." She glared at the screen again, and whispered, "I've got you now, asni."

"Frost, this bastard is hunting YOU," Talon explained. "The Director doesn't want to lose another agent; that's why you're off the case, and I'm on it. I need to be read into new evidence, and you're being shipped back to Lyon."

Frost stood, and faced her superior with indignation. "Three years I've had no backup, and suddenly my boss thinks my SAFEST option is to leave, UNARMED, and take the next available PUBLIC transport to France?" She radiated anger like heat, body tensed, eyes blazing, leaning into Talon's space, her voice was quiet but firm. "If our Director WANTED me dead, he couldn't make it any easier if he handcuffed me naked to a pole!"

"Officer Frost, stand down!" insisted Talon. "This is not a DEBATE, it's an ORDER!" He stepped closer. "I agree: pulling you out is senseless. If you want to protest the order, I will gladly back you up! But until that happens, you are off this case. Now, hand over your SHIELD and WEAPON!"

The pair stood there, glaring at each other, and Gibbs sidled over to Vance, keeping a wary eye on the standoff. Catching Vance's eye, Gibbs spoke quietly. "Frost has been running this case three years. Extracting her now isn't protective, it's investigation suicide," he protested. "She has insights into this monster we don't; reading Lt. Talon in won't replace that."

Director Vance sighed. "I agree with you, Gibbs, but we have no say in the matter. Officer Frost does not work for NCIS; she's Interpol. Her Director gave an order, and she has to take it, or quit."

Frost turned towards them suddenly. "Gentlemen, you're absolutely right," she said pleasantly, a crafty look on her face.

"What?" Gibbs said, puzzled and wary.

"I haven't had a break in three years! It's a miracle I haven't had a nervous breakdown before now." She stood up, reached into her handbag, and pulled out her wallet. Extracting her shield, she pressed it into Lt. Talon's hand, and smiled as his eyebrows knit together. "No hard feelings, Howard. You're a good cop. I'm confident that you and NCIS will be able to close this case within a day or two." Unstrapping her holster from her belt, she handed him her gun. "I'm going to take some vacation time, and visit my family. I haven't seen any of them in a long time. Now, as soon as we get you read in, I'll clean my personal effects out of the desk downstairs."

"The other gun, first, Frost," insisted Talon, holding out his hand again, "and the knives at your wrists."

She grumbled, but bent over and unstrapped a small gun from her right ankle, which she handed to Lt. Talon. Rolling up her sleeves, she revealed two small flick knives, which she unclasped and handed to Talon. He stuck out his large hand again.

"And the C-4," he insisted.

"WHAT?" said Vance and Gibbs together, but she reached into her purse again, pulling out four pieces of innocent-looking Bazooka Bubble Gum.

"Killjoy," she said, dropping them carefully into his outstretched hand. Seeing the dismay on Vance and Gibbs' faces, she said "What? They're micro-charges, and stable until lit." Gibbs closed his eyes, and shook his head in disbelief.

"I have a car waiting downstairs to take you back to our office. From there you fly back to Lyon tonight," Talon said evenly. "We'll ship you your personal effects and clothing."

"I don't think so, Howard," she said, smiling sweetly. "You don't have the authority to remove me from American soil."

His eyes narrowed, "Officer Frost…" he began threateningly,

"Has dual citizenship, since her biological father is American," finished Director Vance. "And since she is not under arrest by Interpol, you have no authority to remove her from our soil. She's currently under NCIS's protective umbrella, as a witness in our joint investigation." He pulled out a toothpick and stuck it between his teeth. "Nicely played, Frost. You ever consider politics?"

"Director Vance," she said, scandalized, "there's no reason to talk dirty!"

Gibbs groaned, slapping his hand to his forehead. Talon snorted in disgust.

"Read me into this, already. We have a pervert to catch."

Tony had returned from Forensics when the trio came down the stairs, and was looking through his email as they walked up. Gibbs led Talon to his computer, and showed him the email with Frost's semi-nude form; the tall officer scowled but said nothing. Brynja walked to the desk she had been using, and began packing up her few effects into her briefcase. Tony's eyebrows went up.

"Brynja, what are you doing?" he called evenly.

She glanced up at him, then back at her packing. "I've been removed from the case—I'm officially on vacation—and have been replaced by Lt. Howard Talon." She motioned to the tall dark man standing over Gibb's computer, and he glanced up. "Lieutenant, these are NCIS Special Agents Anthony DiNozzo and Timothy McGee. They can help get you up to speed." She clicked her briefcase shut and bit her lip, thinking. "I should call my father and Max before I leave, though," she said, pulling out her phone.

"Where are you going," asked Tony, "and who is Max?"

Brynja sighed and looked up. "I'm not leaving the umbrella, if that's what you're worried about, Tony, but beyond that I'm not sure. I can stay at my father's place or at a safe house if NCIS wants to put me up. I need to shower, change, and sleep. Maximillian is my housemate in Lyon, and old enough to be my grandfather," she added, seeing the amused look on Tony's face. "Someone bugged my apartment there the way they did here in America." Cold fury replaced his amused look. "The way Grendel operates—" she shook her head. "I just don't want Max to get hurt."

"I'll take care of Max," offered Lt. Talon over Gibbs' desk. "I have friends in the Lyon PD that can extract him under the guise of a welfare check." His intense black eyes focused on Frost. "I'll need the address to your flat, and a description of Max for Lyon's PD."

Frost nodded, and scribbled something on a pad of paper, then pulled a photograph out of her wallet. "This is Max," she said, handing the photo to Talon, "and this is my Lyon address. Anybody showing up to extract him should carry a loaf of pumpernickel bread. He'll know I sent the messenger, and co-operate fully." Talon took both, nodded, and turned back to talking with Gibbs.

Tony walked over to Brynja's desk. "Did you turn in your shield and gun?" he asked, his face concerned and his voice low.

"Ja, Tony, I did," sighed Brynja.

"So what now? You can't go running around DC," he pointed out.

"I don't know," she replied, frustrated. "I can't stay here forever, or even at my father's, any more than that aircraft carrier can sit in dry dock for the next 50 years, but I'm out of ideas."

"Campfire," offered McGee suddenly. Brynja looked puzzled, so he hastened to explain. "It's what we call an informational huddle; everyone shares whatever information he or she has, and we brainstorm from there."

"Good idea, McGee," Gibbs called out, pulling up a chair, and motioning for everyone else to do the same. "Where do you want to start?"

McGee looked at his boss, nodded, and picked up the remote.

"With the Edinburg Seven, from Frost's first case," he said, pulling up a picture of Captain Jenkin's son and six other young men. "There are too many things in common for it to be a coincidence."

"Robert Jenkins is dead," offered Brynja, "he was killed in a prison riot about a year after his incarceration."

"What a coincidence," said McGee dryly, "the rest of the Seven also died in prison, police custody, or under police supervision."

"What?" asked Brynja, shocked.

McGee nodded. "Six fraternity brothers went to various correctional facilities for multiple convictions of assault, battery, kidnapping, rape, and delivery of a controlled substance. The seventh—he was the youngest involved, only 18 at the time and a pledge—turned state's evidence, and walked away with jail time served and an electronic tether." Seven male faces appeared on the big screen. "There were two American students (one of which was Robert Jenkins), one Irish, two English, one Scottish, and one French. None of them survived three years past conviction."

Tony glanced over at Brynja. Her face was expressionless, but her right hand had closed into a tight fist and her knuckles were white. He moved his chair next to hers and leaned over. "Brynja?" he said quietly. "You alright?"

She glanced at him quickly, then back at the pictures on the screen. "I haven't looked at these in a long time. It's just—bad memories. Marcois Normand is—was—my ex-boyfriend." She looked at the pictures again, and for a moment was silent. "When the trial ended he started screaming that I had betrayed him, and that he was going to make me pay. I can't believe he's really dead."

"Probie," Tony said, "is there any chance these deaths were faked?" The look on his face was calculating.

"Hard to tell, Tony. Some of them might be," McGee offered, "but some of them definitely aren't. We have pictures of Robert Jenkins' funeral and his parents' deaths to consider. A hit-and-run driver killed Matthew Tauten—the Scot on probation. It was very public. Harry Ballinger was found hanged to death in his cell, but the circumstances are suspicious. It may have been an in-house murder, and not a suicide. The rest," he eliminated the pictures of the known dead, leaving four mug shots, "I'm still waiting for confirmation on these, but they're all supposedly dead."

"So who does that leave?" asked Gibbs.

"It leaves: Marcois Normand, of France; Jeffrey White, from America; Colin Orland, from Northern Ireland; and Nigel Blakely, from England," read McGee. "Most of their bodies were damaged beyond visible recognition, and had to be identified by uniform and tags."

"How convenient," muttered Talon. "Those aren't accidents, that's an insurance policy."

"I agree," growled Gibbs. "From here on we don't consider anybody dead without forensics identifying the body. McGee, see if you can get autopsy reports on the last four perps."

"Anybody besides Jenkins have family ties to the American military?" asked Tony.

"None so far," replied McGee. "White would be the obvious choice, but his siblings are all civilians, and his parents have no military background."

"Stay on it, McGee," ordered Gibbs. "There's a link we're missing somewhere."

"Officer Frost," prompted Talon, "what do you have on this pervert? How do you read him?"

Her eyes narrowed. "He's American, because of the military ties, his accent, and the way he swears. He's charismatic. He's careful. He enjoys mind games and cruelty, which would suggest a sociopath personality, and he's methodical in his execution. There's obvious hatred towards women and girls-possibly a bad relationship with his mother. Somehow he's connected to the Edinburg Seven case, perhaps a friend or a family member, maybe even another member of the fraternity. He doesn't differentiate between the innocent and the guilty—no empathy at all. Legal and personal boundaries mean nothing to him. He understands Icelandic, so he's at least bilingual, and well educated. He may be wealthy, or well connected, to be able to afford the surveillance he's been using."

"Grendel being American eliminates your French ex-boyfriend. Wealth should eliminate most military personnel," noted Tony, "they aren't a rich bunch."

"Except this one has been financing his agenda with prostitution—and an expensive branch at that," offered Talon, stroking his chin. "Children command a higher price than adult women."

"Sick bastard," growled Gibbs.

"Agenda," murmured McGee. "Revenge, do you think?"

"Partly," agreed Brynja, "but it seems to go beyond that. He reacted like a jealous husband when I came on to Tony—it was an act we put on for the bugs this morning," she explained. "He thinks he owns me; I'm like property to him, and nobody else can touch me."

"Yet he's had you physically assaulted three times," cautioned McGee. "He's doesn't seem worried about other people hurting you."

"It's still him behind it, McNiceGuy," corrected Tony. "He's controlling the action; it's abuse by proxy, but it isn't satisfying him any more. He wants the real kick, no more stand-ins."

"And he has an ally in my department, someone who hates me with equal passion," mentioned Brynja, "someone who is willing to play his game. Grendel is into games—getting me removed from the investigation is one of his ploys, but it makes no sense."

"He's playing you like a game-fish," offered Talon. "If you run, he gives you line. If you fight, he enjoys it. He's trying to draw you in close enough to gaff."

"Why?" asked McGee, confused. "If he's as wealthy as you suspect, couldn't he just buy what he wanted? Why go to all the trouble of getting Frost kicked off the case? "

"There's no sport in that, McGee," offered Tony.

"I can't be bought, and he isn't trying to remove me from the hunt; he wants me to go solo." Frost stared at the pictures on the flat screen, and her jaw tightened. "It's one reason we have his crew in lockup; they're expendable. We can try and break them, but I doubt any of them know who Grendel really is. That's one advantage he has: he knows me, but I don't know him. Nobody does."

"I wouldn't say that," offered Tony.

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

"Lyon is coming online now, Director," the ensign said.

"Thank you, Ensign," said Director Vance, staring calmly at the big screen. Calling Interpol's main office in Lyon via MTAC had been Talon's idea. The large Canadian stood beside him at parade rest, impressive in his silence; the man had PRESENCE. Frost held a chair behind Talon, his bulk blocking any view of her from the screen; Gibbs sat two seats to her right. There was something wrong between the two of them, Vance could sense it, but he didn't have time to handle it. It was time for politics.

The picture in front of them flickered, and then gradually focused, showing a middle-aged Caucasian man at a desk, wearing a blue blazer with a badge declaring the name "Robert D'Conyours" pinned to his breast pocket. A jagged scar crossed his forehead and disappeared into his hairline, but his brown eyes were sharp and clear.

"Bon soir, Director Vance. Bon soir, Lt. Talon. Were you able to secure Officer Frost? Director Smythe has been very concerned." The man's French accent was thick, but understandable.

"Oi, Robert, I had no problem. Officer Frost can be quite reasonable, when approached properly. You should know that by now," Talon said. D'Conyours snorted in disgust, and Talon scowled. "Is the Director in?"

"Allo', Howard," said an older man, coming into view standing behind D'Conyours. He wore an identical blazer; his name badge said 'Director Smythe'. "Oi', I am here; it is good to see you again. Is Officer Frost still there, or did you manage to get her on a flight already?"

"She is still here, Director. It has been a very busy day."

"Nevertheless, I cannot express my relief. I should have pulled her from this case long ago, but I know how Lieutenant Auten trained her, and I allowed our mutual respect for him to sway my judgement." D'Conyours snorted again; Director Smythe glared down at him, but said nothing to his secretary. "I almost waited too long; it appears the perpetrators have made her their target. She refuses to take another partner, so I want her home as soon as possible."

"That would not be prudent, Director Smythe," offered Director Vance. "This case has advanced to near-closing in the two days since Officer Frost arrived at NCIS. The joint operation has proved very successful. Agent Gibbs." Gibbs stood beside Leon, "This is my Senior Field Agent, Leroy Gibbs. He can give you our sit rep."

"Bon soir, Director," began Gibbs, "in the last 24 hours we have apprehended six suspects, and we are closing in on the ringleader as we speak. Nine potential victims have been rescued alive and are recovering. Officer Frost's work and instincts on this case cannot be replicated by another agent, even one as experienced as Talon. We would prefer to have Frost handy, in case we run across situations or evidence she may recognize."

Director Smythe frowned. "Forgive an old man's sentiments, gentlemen, but I am quite attached to Officer Frost, and she is in danger beyond the call of her duty. I trust you received my email this morning?"

"I did," nodded Director Vance.

"Then you understand my position. This case is, and always has been, an American problem. It is a tragedy that your office took so long to take notice of it, but now that you have started, perhaps you can clean your own house. I am not willing to sacrifice one of my best field agents (D'Conyours snorted again) to a violent American pimp, when you and your team have all the evidence available to you, as well as valid leads."

"Thank you, Director," Frost said, rising from her chair and becoming visible to Talon's left. "I was afraid you had lost confidence in me."

"Non, cherie," the old man said. "But this is no case for a lady."

"Then it is well that I am not a lady." Gibbs and D'Conyours chose that moment to have identical coughing fits. Frost rolled her eyes at both of them, but her gaze—total ice—came to rest on D'Conyours. "Bon soir, Robert. There is no need to be shy with your opinion. The Director trusts your judgement, I'm sure," she said cordially, but Gibbs could feel the ice. Talon and Vance glanced in her direction as well, but her face remained impassive.

"Do you have something to add, Sergeant D'Conyours?" Director Smythe asked stiffly.

"Oi, Director, I do," the man snapped. "This has gone on long enough. NO investigation should have taken this much time. It is only because of Officer Frost's obvious weakness and ineffective methods that it has taken three years to close. She should have been assigned another partner when Lt. Auten was killed—a man would have had the _connelies_ to end this long before now, and the Department would not have to pay for her globetrotting." D'Conyours' tone was angry and bitter, laced with frustration.

"Is that an offer, Robert," asked Frost, "or do you remember what happened the last time you tried to fill a position with me?"

*The temperature just dropped 20 degrees*, thought Vance.

"Non, Freshie," D'Conyours snarled, "don't start with me. Or have you earned a new nickname with your American friends," he sneered?

"Have you become accustomed to 'Quasimodo'?" she returned coldly.

"**That is enough!"** snapped Director Smythe. "Sergeant D'Conyours, you are excused! Officer Frost, control your tongue! Remember who is supposed to be the criminal, and who the officer!"

"I have never forgotten, Monsoir Director," insisted Frost stiffly, staring as D'Conyours backed away from the camera and rolled—ROLLED—away and out of view.

The old man glared at each of them. "This world is hostile enough; we don't need to fight each other. It is high time you two made peace." He glanced at D'Conyours' retreating wheelchair, then back at the camera. "Officer Frost, I still want you to stand down. If Director Vance truly needs you there, you may stay on in an advisory capacity, but I do not want you in the field. Is that understood? Stay out of harm's way."

"Yes, sir," she said coolly. "With that thought in mind, Director, I would like to take some vacation time. I could use the rest, and I would like to call on my father; he lives in the DC area. I will stay in contact with NCIS personnel at all times."

Director Smythe frowned. "I don't like the feel of this, Officer Frost. I did not become Director by being a fool. I don't want you taking any unnecessary risks. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly, Director Smythe."

"Good. I hope you find your American vacation refreshing. Remember: you have to pay for any frivolous shopping. I expect a full report when you get back to Lyon. And Brynja?"

Her eyes widened at her director's use of her given name. "Yes, Director?"

"Do come back in one piece."

"Yes, sir."

"Lt. Talon,"

"Sir?"

"Make sure she behaves herself."

The tall man smiled. "I'll do my best, Director."

The old man turned back to Director Vance. "Leon, I'll leave you and your team to your housecleaning. Let me know if you need anything else. Oh, and Leon," the old man paused.

"Yes, Syngion?"

"Consider Officer Frost an escape risk. Whoever guards THAT one will have to be crafty. Lt. Auten taught her well."

Vance smiled a little. "Understood, Syngion. Have a good night. NCIS out."

"Adieu, Leon."

The screen flipped to color bars, and then went blank. Everybody in the room took a large breath, and looked around. Gibbs sidled up to Frost.

"Ex-husband?" he asked, motioning to the screen with his head. "I haven't seen that much hostility since my first divorce."

She looked at him sharply. "No, Robert is my ex-partner. I've never been married."

"And the chair," Gibbs pressed sharply?

Frost stiffened. "That is my business, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs hesitated. "Do we have a problem, Frost?"

Her eyes remained cold. "No, we don't. We need to close the case, so I can go home. That requires work; nothing else is necessary." She picked up the audiotape, turned, and walked up the stairs, letting herself out of MTAC. Gibbs stood and watched her go, puzzled.

"He caught a ricochet in the spine," Talon had walked up behind Gibbs as he watched Frost leave MTAC. "They were working a stake-out that went south. D'Conyours has been paralyzed from the waist down ever since. The bullet was from Frost's gun. She swore it was an accident: that he crossed her line of fire. There's more to the story, but it all depends on whom you ask."

"Mighty coincidental, though," grumbled Gibbs, staring up the staircase, "that she 'accidentally' shot a man she was feuding with. I don't believe in coincidence, Talon." His paused, scowling. "I have my team's safety to consider, and Frost is reckless. Now she may be vindictive in the field as well? Hunting this bastard is bad enough. I shouldn't have to worry about who is on my six."

Talon turned to Gibbs, an odd look on his face. "I was there that night, Gibbs, and I backed her to the review board. There have always been some unanswered questions, but none of them involved recklessness or vindictiveness on Frost's part. D'Conyours is another story." The tall Interpol agent glanced at the door Frost had just exited through. "His record with female agents was odious. I think Frost held back at the inquest so he wouldn't lose his job as well as his legs. He was married with kids at the time."

"Was?" Gibbs stopped at the past tense. Talon nodded.

"His wife divorced him, took the kids, and left the country about two years ago. She lives in Germany now, I think. Went back to college, got a degree, a job, and a better life. She was too good for that ass. He had it coming."

"Maybe now he thinks Frost has it coming," Gibbs mused. "He's mole suspect #1 on my list. This is almost too easy."

"So, what did you say to piss her off?" Talon looked at Gibbs inquisitively as they headed for the coffeepot. Gibbs raised an eyebrow, and Talon nodded. "She's mad, all right, but don't expect her to say much. Icelanders are like that."

"Beats me," shrugged Gibbs, "pissing off women is a gift of mine." He led Talon to the inner elevator and hit the 'down' button.

"That's a curse, Gibbs, not a gift. Where to next?"

"Forensics. I want to see what Abby can do with the tape," mentioned Gibbs. He scanned the bullpen for any sign of Frost. When he didn't see her, he stuck his hand in the elevator door. "DiNozzo," he called, "where's Frost?"

Tony was on the phone, but looked up at Gibbs' call. Cradling the phone against his shoulder, he pointed to the floor, then made a sign language 'A' next to his mouth. Gibbs nodded, removed his hand, and the doors closed.

"What does that mean?" asked Talon.

"It means I won't be able to use sign language around Tony much longer," sighed Gibbs. "He must be studying on his own. The sign he just used means 'Abby'; Frost is already in Forensics."

Abby and Brynja together as Abby called up the low whisper from the video file. Separating the sounds from the surrounding noise had not taken Abby long; now a husky, French-accented male whispered from the speaker: "Say 'adieu' to your partner, Freshie. Now you start to pay." Abby took the tape from the MTAC conference, separated the voice Brynja identified as D'Conyours, and ran the audios together. She frowned.

"No match," she said, scowling even deeper.

"None?" asked Brynja, horrified. "I was so certain. Same accent, same terms, even the way he threatens me at the end: it has to be him."

"Nope, the first voice has the wrong inflections, trebles, and tone. It isn't D'Conyours." Abby saw the expression on Brynja's face, and tried to console her. "Science doesn't lie, Brynja. I'm sorry. Do you have any other suspects from your office?"

"None immediately available. My first two partners are in the field somewhere. I think one is in Russia and the other in North Africa. We don't speak, but I don't think they hate me, at least not like this. Robert is another story. He blames me for ruining his life." Her eyebrows furrowed. "Dealing with him at all makes my blood pressure rise. He's actually worse than Gibbs."

Abby turned sharply towards Brynja, surprised. "You and Gibbs aren't getting along?"

Brynja shook her head, and her face clouded. "He doesn't trust me at all. He's constantly questioning every move I make, demanding I account for my actions like I'm a, a," she paused, looking for the right word, "I think the word here is 'rookie'. Like I have no field experience."

"Gibbs and DiNozzo say 'probie', for 'probationary'. Gibbs is like that with everybody he doesn't know. Try not to take it personally," Abby soothed. "He's just rough that way. I think it's part of his being an ex-Marine."

"There's more to it than that, Abby. I can see it in his eyes and sometimes in Tony's: they keep comparing me to somebody else." Brynja shook her head. "I think it's Tony's last partner, whoever that was. Tony looks at me and—he's disappointed. Gibbs looks at me, and he tenses, he's wary. He's afraid I'm going to betray him." She pursed her lips, thinking. "I suppose it wouldn't bother me so if he hadn't been so crass. I can understand being wary of a stranger, but—"

"What did he say?" Abby paused in her key-tapping, curiosity getting the best of her.

Brynja winced. "He accused me of screwing a suspect for investigative purposes. He basically called me a whore."

Abby's mouth dropped open in shock. "No WAY!"

Brynja nodded. "I dated the carrier's communication's officer in Izmir. We met for lunch twice, and went to a movie. We were supposed to have dinner the night I was attacked, but of course I wasn't there anymore. When Gibbs realized I knew him, he turned on me and demanded to know if I had been sleeping with Daniel as part of my investigation. Daniel was standing RIGHT THERE." She threw her hands up in the air in disgust. "It was all I could do to keep from striking him."

"You and Captain Hunt never—got close," Abby asked cautiously?

"Oh, God, no," said Brynja, "we never had time, and…I've never been married. It just isn't DONE where I come from. I mean, it IS, of course, but—in my circle, it isn't. It's hard to explain, because of our cultural differences, but-"

Abby looked at her, mild surprise in her eyes. "You're not sexually active?"

Brynja sighed and shook her head. "I haven't had a romantic relationship in almost 10 years. My last partner was gay, and the three before that were all lice. My last two boyfriends were in college, and were horrid men. The latter was a rapist, and the former," she growled a bit, "a medical student from another college. He 'offered' me a free pelvic exam on our third dinner date! Can you believe the nerve some men have!"

Abby's mouth dropped open, scandalized. "What did you say?"

"I told him EXACTLY where he could put his speculum, and knocked out two of his teeth. He actually tried to send me a dozen roses with an apology note later. I sent the flowers back, of course, along with a certain medical device I had beaten shapeless with a hammer. I NEVER heard from him again!"

"You go girl!" Abby enthusiastically punched the air above her head.

Brynja shrugged. "And those defined my romantic relationships: two boyfriends, both losers. I take a lot of heat at work because I'm single and-inexperienced. French and English men think my blond hair means I'm promiscuous, and if I'm not, that I just need 'breaking in'. Americans aren't any different. Cops are worst of all."

Abby scowled. "Yeah. I know. It's like we don't have any intelligence at all, or investigative instincts, or logic centers in our brains. If we solve a case, it must be because we gave the right person a hand job or a lap dance." She shook her head. "I would get that kind of crap out of Tony, but he's scared to death of me." She glanced at Brynja, her eyes dancing. "I've told him more than once that I can kill him without leaving forensic evidence!" She hesitated, "If Gibbs had known about you, I don't think he would have said.."

"Abby," Brynja chided, "he shouldn't have to know. It's still wrong to say, whether I'm a virgin or not. If my boss came in here and asked you who you slept with to get your mass spec?"

Abby nodded, "Gibbs would shoot him." She paused, thinking. "Of course, he would have to get in line, because I think I would shoot him first. Not to kill, of course, just to maim. Sometimes I believe in maiming!"

Brynja laughed, a little. The phone beeped, and Abby picked it up.

"Forensics, L'abby," she said, then listened. "Oh, yeah, I'll tell her," she said, then hung up. "That was Tony. Agent Fornell is upstairs with your clothing, and the hospital called. The girls are awake."

"Great. Thanks for the chat, Abby. It really helps."

"Anytime," Abby smiled.

Gibbs and Talon stepped off the elevator, and approached the Forensic Lab's door in time to hear Abby say:

"Gibbs is like that with everybody he doesn't know. Try not to take it personally," Abby soothed. "He's just rough that way. It's part of his being an ex-Marine."

Gibbs froze; his face puzzled, and he leaned against the wall just outside the lab door. Talon stopped as well, but simply stood, his eyes sharp and his head raised, arms crossed against his chest. Gibbs grimaced as he realized how deeply he had insulted the Interpol officer. Abby's words stung like a slap. He had never treated HER that way.

Had he? Suddenly he wasn't so sure.

"Gibbs, you are one really mean bastard," he breathed.

"Yes, you are," growled Talon. "Insult MY officer like that again, and I'll knock you on your ass." Gibbs glanced at the Native officer, surprised. "Marines aren't the only ones who take care of their own. I shouldn't HAVE to tell you to watch your mouth, but-"

"Don't worry," interjected Gibbs, "I get the idea." He took a step into Abby's lab, determined to apologize, but collided with Frost as she exited.

An awkward moment passed while Frost read Gibb's expression. "Save it," she said as he inhaled to speak, "I'm not interested." She started for the elevator, but stopped halfway down the hall. Turning towards Gibbs again, she continued. "I don't know who betrayed you or left you, but deal with your _personal feelings_ on your own time. Your team has to live with you. I _don't_." Turning smartly on her heel, she stomped into the elevator, and the doors closed behind her.

"Wow," said an impressed Talon, "she's really mellowed over the years."

"Which is more than I can say for a certain ex-Marine," growled a voice from the doorway. Abby stood there, hands on her hips, scowling. "I didn't find a match in the tapes, but I'm still working on things. I don't have anything for you yet, Gibbs, so go bother Ducky if you can't think of anything else to do." Gibbs had never seen her so indignant. He was amazed! "Better yet, be a **man **and apologize to Brynja, even when she says she doesn't want you to. She really wants you to; she just doesn't want a fake one!"

"Abbs, I.."

"TEN HUT," she screamed, and Gibbs' arms dropped reflexively to his sides. Stomping around him in her black heeled boots, Abby reached up and slapped Gibbs on the back of his head with her left hand. "That's from ME," she yelled. Reaching up with her right hand, she whacked him on the head again. "That one's from KATE! Ziva can give you one when she gets back! Now MOVE OUT!" Turning towards Talon, she snarled at him, "And YOU! One smart-ass comment out of YOU about Major Mass Spec will get you a Taser to the _belt buckle_! **Out**! Both of you!"

Wide eyed, Gibbs and Talon backed down the hall towards the elevator.

"Feisty little thing," Talon finally commented.

"You have noooo idea," commented Gibbs.

TBC.


	12. Chapter 12

"There wasn't much to gather; you pack light," Fornell said, handing Frost a medium-size duffel bag.

"My job requires a great deal of travel. I learned to live out of a carry-on long ago," she replied, setting the bag on the recently vacated desk. "Did you find any more surveillance equipment?"

"A few more microphones is all. DiNozzo seems to have found all the cameras." Fornell peered into Frost's face, his brows knitting together. "Are you ok, Officer Frost? Do you need a safe place to stay tonight? If your own office or NCIS aren't putting you up, I'm sure I can arrange a safe house with my office. You look about 20 hours short of 8 hours sleep."

"Thank you, Agent Fornell. It has been a long day, but we haven't discussed my sleeping arrangements yet, and I'm not ready to quit working. Tony just heard from the hospital: the girls are awake, and may be able to tell us something about their captors. We need to head down there as soon as possible," she explained.

"Agent DiNozzo is free to go, as per his boss's instructions, but you aren't, Frost. In case you forgot, you aren't allowed in the field any longer, by order of our Director," chided Talon. "Lt. Howard Talon, Interpol," he said, extending his right hand to Fornell as he introduced himself.

"Yes, Lieutenant, but the hospital is hardly 'the field', and these minors are female victims of sexual abuse. A female agent is required, and you don't qualify," she pointed out. "Neither does anybody else in this room," she added, motioning to the agents surrounding her.

"Tobias Fornell, FBI," the older man returned, shaking Talon's hand. "Frost has a point, but what's this about her not being allowed in the field?"

Brynja snorted. "My boss received an email from our perpetrator with a direct threat against me, so he wants me out of the line of fire. I've been removed from active duty for the time being. I took some vacation time so I could stay in the US, but I had to turn in my shield and sidearms. My involvement is classified as strictly supportive."

Fornell looked alarmed. "You're supposed to run around unarmed in DC, with a serial killer stalking you? Has Smythe lost his mind?"

Tony looked up from his desk. "Who?"

Brynja looked around at him. "Director Syngion Smythe, my boss in Lyon."

Tony started to laugh. "You're joking, right? That's not really his name, is it?"

Brynja exchanged a look with Fornell, who simply raised an eyebrow. "I'm not joking; that's really his name. Why?"

Tony's guffaw got louder. "Because that's one of the fake names used by James Bond in "A View to a Kill". And this is actually your boss's name?" He started chuckling. "That's just…"

"What is that, a movie?" asked Brynja. "Who is James Bond?"

Tony's mouth dropped open. "You've never HEARD of James Bond? How can you work in law enforcement and not know about James Bond?" He shook his head. "Even Russian boarder patrols know who James Bond is!"

Frost shrugged. "I don't have much time for movies, Tony. My last one was in Izmir with Daniel—Captain Hunt—and was some old piece of science fiction. I think it was called "Star Track" or "Space Truck" or something like that. The subtitles were really bad."

"Sounds like a "Star Trek" movie," offered McGee. "Which one was it?"

She spread her hands. "I have no idea. Dan—Captain Hunt—could tell you. He's really into that sort of thing, but I'm not. He had to interpret the story for me, and I still had trouble understanding it. I think the moral of the story was 'take care of your PC so it doesn't try to destroy the Earth', or something like that." She shrugged again. "Is this James Bond character somebody from that genre?"

Tony started pounding his head against his desk.

McGee smacked Tony on the shoulder. "No," he explained, as Tony rubbed his face. "James Bond is an imaginary English spy who runs around saving the world from terrorists, and the only non-American investigator that Tony wants to grow up to be someday. He has the entire set in his DVD collection. I'm sure he can get you caught up sometime."

"I'm gonna get you for that, McQ," groaned Tony.

"Ugh," Brynja said. "That sounds too much like work. I'll skip the anthology, thanks." Pulling out her cell phone, she flipped it open and started punching keys. A phone rang on the other end, and Tony heard a masculine voice answer. "Pabbi," she began, "This is Brynja." The rest of the conversation continued in slow Icelandic. A few minutes later, she hung up. Tony raised an eyebrow. "My father," she explained. "Staying at his place is now an option; I have the new codes to his security system, and he knows to expect me in case he gets home early from work."

"So now we just have to figure out what to do with you," remarked Talon laconically. "I don't suppose you'll feel comfortable with someone from our office now, will you?"

"No offense, Howard, but no," Brynja said. She pulled up an office chair as Talon lounged against a desk. "I'm not sure who, besides you, I can trust in our office right now."

"Thanks, Frost," he said kindly.

"I mean, that, Howard, and you aren't protecting me tonight either," she insisted. He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. "You have a wife and two little girls to consider," she said harshly, "and if you want to know why I won't go to your house tonight, all you have to do is visit NCIS's morgue. I'm not risking Mim and the girls."

"Where does that leave you," asked Talon, "and with whom?" 

"That would be Gibbs, DiNozzo, McGee, or me," offered Fornell, "or everybody, if we all spent the night here.

"You're out, Tobias," offered Gibbs. "This is Emily's weekend with you."

"Tony is out," insisted Frost, "Grendel threatened him this morning. He could be the next victim taken, to get to me. He shouldn't be near me, or go home alone tonight, either."

"The Boss is out," offered McGee. The room fell silent, and all eyes—including Gibbs'—turned to McGee.

"You wanna explain that, McGee?" Gibbs finally asked, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at his computer tech.

McGee took a breath. "You-two-have-a-really-bad-vibe-and-a-propensity-towards-hand-to-hand-combat-and-you-have-a-basement-full-of-hand-tools-and-I-don't-want-either-of-you-dead."

"You-don't-lock-your-door-Boss," coughed Tony. Gibbs glared at him, and he spread his hands. "What? Like you haven't had unwanted visitors with nerve toxin or an ex-wife show up in your basement before now?"

Gibbs surrendered. "Ok, I'm out. That leaves McGee."

"If Agent McGee is comfortable with the assignment, then I can accept Agent McGee as security," offered Brynja. "Don't forget about Abby. Grendel may threaten her as well."

"Abby can come with us," offered McGee, "she's been to my place before."

Silence fell on the bullpen for a moment as everyone looked at each other. For once, the ice had dissipated.

"Ok," said Gibbs. "Frost, what next? This was your case first," he offered.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "The girls need to be interviewed, if they're up to it. Anything they can tell us about Grendel and company will be helpful. I would strongly suggest Tony be involved, since he speaks Spanish and was involved in the rescue. Do you have a sketch artist available?"

"Abby has a program on her laptop that does the same thing," offered McGee.

"And she's great with kids," Tony added. He frowned, "I'm not sure you should be the female officer at the first interview, Brynja." She looked at him quizzically, so he explained. "The first child recognized you right away, and was terrified. Remember how she freaked out?"

"Yes," Brynja nodded, "she had a few names for me as well. Grendel has been using some of his images of me to bias the girls against me. At least one thinks I'm the enemy, but," she frowned, "I don't think the other does. She reacted differently when I found her."

"What did she say?" prompted Gibbs.

Brynja frowned, trying to remember. It had only been that morning, yet seemed so long ago. "I don't speak Spanish, so it's hard to remember, but it sounded like 'El Diablo dee say kay two ben gay. Yo key-e-ray kay two ben gay."

"Not bad," offered Tony, "butchered, but not bad. Roughly, that's 'The devil said you would come. I knew you would come.'"

"Well, duh," drawled Fornell, "what cop wouldn't go? That's a no-brainer."

"But it's twice in one day this bastard has correctly predicted Frost's actions," Gibbs noted. "He knows your patterns and your preferences, and probably ours as well."

"And our Director's," offered Talon. "He sent Smythe that video to make SURE you would get pulled from the case; it's guaranteed he knew you would find some way to stay in the game. He's hoping you'll go after him yourself," the tall man noted as he sized up his officer, "ditch surveillance, backup, and due process. He knows you don't know how to find him…"

"So he left a trail of human bread-crumbs," finished Tony, "the girls we recovered yesterday and this morning. Brynja identifies Grendel from their information, goes nuts and does a Rambo."

"An interesting theory, except for one thing," protested Brynja.

"You're not going to the hospital for victim interviews," guessed Talon?

"No, I'm not STUPID," she exclaimed. "Even Grendel knows that by now! If I learn exactly who he is from the girls, I'm not going to risk him escaping by trying to kill him myself!" The men looked at her for a moment, and she threw her hands in the air. "Do I LOOK like I suffer from testosterone poisoning?"

"Nope," said Gibbs.

"Uh-uh," grunted DiNozzo.

"No!" exclaimed McGee.

"Exactly! That's why I need to talk to those girls! Look, Grendel has been studying me for a while. He's been studying the rest of you for a short time, but I'm the one he really knows. He will have left clues in the girls specifically for me to recognize and decipher. He wants me to find him." She looked around at men encircling her. "If we're going to get him, stop him, he needs to find me." Nobody moved, but each agent looked uncomfortable with what she was saying. "We're wasting time! We have got to talk to the girls! Look, Lieutenant, I'll stay with whoever is the secure agent at all times. I'm not going to take any unnecessary risks. I'm just going to the hospital to collect survivors' statements. Unarmed secretaries do that all the time. It's not like—"

"Alright," Talon said quietly. "You may go. Take a voice recorder—"

"I have one," she said.

"And make sure you stay with Agent DiNozzo at all times."

"I will."

"DiNozzo," said Gibbs.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Country of origin, consular information, and children's advocate," he advised, "we need to cover all our bases. Get Abby and her computer, and go."

"On it, Boss," Tony said, jumping up from his chair and heading for Forensics. Brynja followed him, re-adjusting her purse on her shoulder as the elevator doors closed. She felt oddly undressed without her sidearm. Tony stood a few feet away, seemingly amused. When they were safely out of Gibbs' and Talon's earshot, he leaned over.

"So, did Talon get your cigarette loads or your mini-guns?" he asked.

"What?" she asked, surprised.

Tony grinned. "Your breath doesn't smell like tobacco smoke; and neither does your clothing or apartment, but you carry Sonoma Wide Pack. You have Seasonique in your medicine cabinet, but you're packing tampons—maxi's—just large enough to hide one bullet apiece."

Brynja shrugged. "It's a tough job. I like to be prepared for it." She glanced up at him. "Thanks for not mentioning it to my boss, though."

"No problem. This is a tough town; you shouldn't be completely unarmed." He paused. "The Bazooka Gum smelled funny."

"It was C4 in disguise," she admitted, "but Talon confiscated that. My Tic Tacs are smoke bombs, though."

Tony raised an eyebrow in admiration. "And the M&M's?"

"Chocolate. Touch and die."

Tony chuckled, then looked puzzled. "The Seasonique? That's an odd choice, considering you aren't sexually active."

Brynja raised an eyebrow. "And the last time YOU had a period during a stake-out was _?"

"Ah."

Gibbs watched Tony leave with Frost, then turned back to Talon.

"You let her keep her cigarette loads and pen guns," he mentioned casually. The taller man shrugged.

"It's a tough town; she shouldn't be completely unarmed. Now your boss will tell my boss that I collected her obvious and not-so-obvious weaponry, and the mole won't be too suspicious." He looked up for a minute, and frowned. "I wonder about the Tic Tacs, though."

Gibbs shrugged. "Smoke bombs, most likely. Distracting, but not dangerous unless somebody is dumb enough to bite into one." He scowled. "I still don't like this set-up. I was a serial killer's target once. I lost a damn good agent before we got him, too."

"The Haswari case: I remember that," Talon commented gravely. Gibbs looked at him, surprised, and he shrugged. "Word gets around."

"So how is it getting around to this Grendel character," asked Fornell? "This bastard is gathering intelligence on all of our agencies. I can't believe any cop would want to work with this slimeball, much less two or three. So how is he worming his way in?"

McGee looked up from his computer. "Damn it," he breathed, rising and picking up Frost's laptop, "that's it." Flipping it over, he started examining the casing, then began unscrewing it with a screwdriver from his desk. "Son of a—"

"McGee," said Gibbs curiously, "you have something you want to share?"

"In a minute, Boss," said the young agent, carefully removing Frost's computer case. A moment later, he held up a yellow cube with a pair of tweezers. "Worse than a worm. Every email she sent to our agencies and within her own, even her diary and evidence logs, was cracked with this. No firewall, no encryption, could keep him out. She may have well have been using Grendel as a traveling agent or a confidant. I should check her personal cell phone, too."

"Just like the time Tony's was compromised by that robbery suspect," scowled Gibbs. "Her homes, her computer, her landlines—he's really close. This is personal. Only one emotion can drive a man like this."

Talon nodded. "Revenge."

"McGee, any word yet on the identities of those 'dead' prisoners?" Gibbs asked.

McGee frowned and turned back to his computer. "Yes. Three confirmed dead by dental records. The only one still possibly outstanding is…Marcois Normand, the Frenchman. I'm still waiting for confirmation on him."

"Frost's ex-boyfriend, but it feels wrong, somehow," remarked Talon. "How would an escaped con manage such an involved ring? He would be risking discovery at every step."

"Maybe he didn't," mused Gibbs. "McGee, pull up those trial pictures again."

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Tony, Abby, and Brynja exited the hospital elevator together, and headed for the nurses' station. Abby carried her computer, while Tony and Brynja clutched several McDonald's bags. The stern-looking head nurse raised an eyebrow at the aroma of french fries and McNuggets, but otherwise waved them by. The pair of impassive Marines snapped to attention when Tony showed his badge, and gratefully accepted the bags Brynja sweetly handed them.

"I think it's called an Angus deluxe, but I'm not certain," she explained. "It didn't seem fair to bring stuff to the kids, and leave you gentlemen to starve out here."

"Thank you, ma'am," each said enthusiastically, digging into his bag for the still-steaming sandwiches. The three of them walked past the girls' guards, and into the sunny room where the Hospital's Children's Advocate waited for them. Tony had called ahead.

The room was well lit and quiet. A matronly woman of about 55 sat in a chair opposite the girls' beds, chatting in easy Spanish as they walked in the room. "Sandra Delsinger," she said as she stood up and extended her hand. "Como se llaman?"

"Me llamo Antonio DiNozzo, y mi companeras estan Abigail Sciuto y Brynja Frost," Tony answered easily, introducing himself, Abby, and Brynja to the Advocate. "Pueden hablamos con las camaroncitas?"

"Si', esperan para ti' hoy," she said warmly. "Mira," she said, motioning for Tony to walk past her, and into the girls' view.

"What did they say," whispered Brynja to Abby?

"I don't speak that much Spanish, but I think it was mostly introductions. Tony and the Advocate have worked out a code so nobody who doesn't belong can get in here. Even if a fraud got past the guards, they wouldn't fool this lady. A creep would have to know what to say, in Spanish no less, or she would raise hell," Abby murmured back.

The girls, both tucked securely into their hospital beds, had sat up when Tony walked in, and their eyes widened at the smell of the Happy Meals he pulled out. "Tony! Pepitas! Ole'!" one of them exclaimed, reaching for her bag. The other smiled weakly, accepting her food, but strained to see around Tony, as if looking for someone. He pulled up a chair and motioned for Abby to step forward. Brynja, as they had discussed, remained behind the privacy curtain. They wanted to give the girls some time to relax and enjoy their food before stressing them with her presence and the necessary interviews. Mrs. Delsinger joined Brynja behind the curtain, accepting the bag handed to her with gratitude, and they both sat down to eat.

"I would, too," she said quietly between bites of fries. "Raise hell, that is. These girls have been through enough. Nothing more is going to happen to them on MY watch. Sandra Delsinger, by the way. You're Brynja, right?" she said, extending a greasy hand.

Brynja shook the greasy hand and nodded, stuffing a few french fries into her own mouth. "Yes. I'm with Interpol. We're trying to capture the monster." She paused long enough to swallow. "I just hope they can handle me being here. The man responsible for this may have taught them to fear me, and that's going to complicate things."

Sandra shook her head. "Don't worry. I've had a little time to talk to them, and they know the truth. They've had to do a lot of growing up in the past two months, and they're really smart. The littlest one—Elsa—has actually been asking for you by name, while Sofia has been asking for Tony. They know what they have to do, and they're eager to help."

"I'm glad to hear it," Brynja said, relieved. "This case has dragged me across Europe and now the Atlantic for three years. These girls are among the first survivors found, and may hold the information we need to stop this monster."

"Kick his ass," the older woman quietly urged, "and put in a few good shots for me, too."

"Thanks, I will," Brynja promised.

"Brynja," called Tony from beyond the curtain, "Can you join us in here, please?"

"Time to go to work," said Brynja. Sandra waved her aside.

The girls' interviews took several hours, and the trio had to give them frequent breaks, because they quickly tired. They soon learned that the girls were actually sisters, taken from their mother, who was a prostitute in Madrid. Grendel had pretended to be a social worker, and told her he was taking the girls to an appropriate foster home. With the threat of court involvement, the befuddled woman had quickly surrendered her children to someone she was convinced was a law enforcement officer. From there, the girls had been drugged and taken to the ship, and from there-.

When they were finished, sadly they were no closer to knowing what Grendel (or more properly, Grendels, since the girls said there was more than one) looked like. The main perpetrators had been careful to wear masks around them the entire time. The few people the girls could identify were already in NCIS custody. It was Elsa who remembered something helpful near the end of the interview, as Abby entertained them with different cartoon characters from her computer file.

"El Diablo tiene mas que un voz," she said, her face puckering. Abby and Brynja, by now used to Tony's rhythm with the girls, waited for the translation.

"She said the Devil has more than one voice," he offered. Brynja's face quickly became calculating.

"Ask her how many voices he has, and if any of them have different accents," she told him.

Tony made the translation, and the answer was a quick "Si'! Mucho!"

Tony looked at Brynja's eyes—suddenly intense. "This means something to you, doesn't it? What is it?"

Brynja ignored him for the moment, staring from Elsa to Sofia and back again. "Girls, this is very important. I need you to remember as best as you can. Did the devil say anything about Odin's daughter, or the Eye, or the Valkyrie? Do those words sound familiar?"

Tony made the translation again, and this time it was Sofia who nodded. Babbling in rapid Spanish, she expanded on "el Ojo" and "la Valkyria" for several minutes, with Elsa bursting in several times. Tony stopped translating; he chose to take notes instead as Brynja nodded encouragement. When the girls stopped talking, Tony finally looked up at Brynja and Abby. His voice was hoarse, choked with emotion.

"The girls said that the devils went on and on about the Valkyrie, how they were going to put out her eye and make sure she would never qualify as a daughter of Odin. She would scream and beg and plead, and in the end, there would be nothing but blood and silence, for she would finally be a good girl." His eyes locked into Brynja's, "And finally, Loki would have his revenge. Brynja, do you know-?"

"Yes, Tony. I do," she answered. "I'll explain in the car. If you're up to it, I would like to tell the girls a story. Can you do that for me? It's something they need to hear," she explained.

He nodded. "Make it a quick one. I need to use the head." Behind Brynja, Abby blew her nose. She was crying.

"Girls, you've been a big help, and I know how to stop the man who hurt you. We're going to get him. He is a monster. But can I tell you a story first?" The girls nodded as Tony translated Brynja's words, their eyes wide. "Ok. Let me know if I go too fast, ok Tony?" He gave her the 'thumbs up' sign, so she began.

"A long time ago, in the time of the Romans, there was a good King with a beautiful Queen. The King's name was Irenaus, and the Queen's name was Boudiacca. King Irenaus and Queen Boudiacca were happy together, and though they had no sons, they had many daughters. When King Irenaus died, he left half of his kingdom to his neighbor and friend, the commander of the Roman Legion, and the other half to his daughters, so that they could marry and have families and property."

"But the King's friend betrayed him after he was dead, and marched on King Irenaus' land with his Legion. They tied Queen Boudiacca to a post and whipped her like a slave, and the army abused his daughters for three days. They hurt their girls the way you were hurt." Brynja paused, and looked Sofia and Elsa in the face. "And it wasn't their fault, either. When the evil army had finished, they burned all of King Irenaus' houses and drove off his animals, and left his wife and daughters for dead."

"But Queen Boudiacca was not dead, and neither were his little girls. Some of her servants came and cut her down from the pole, and tied up her wounds. She tended her daughters, and saw that they were healthy again, and found people to take care of them. When that was done, she found the one horse the evil army had left behind, her husband's old charger, and she made him pull a chariot. Queen Boudicca went to her people, and called them to war against the evil Romans who had betrayed their friends. Though she was a woman, all her people followed her to war. They tracked down and found the evil Legion and their Commander, and in the battle they killed them all, though the Legion had them outnumbered. Then Queen Boudicca and her army went to the evil Commander's capital city, and burned it to the ground. Thus did Queen Boudicca make her daughters, and her people, and her lands safe for a while, though it was a long time ago, and she was only a woman."

"I tell you this now, because the man who hurt you was once a friend of mine, and he betrayed my trust the way the Roman commander betrayed his friend, King Irenaus. And now, I am going to war with my neighbors to stop him, like Queen Boudicca stopped the Roman commander. When we are done, you will be safe again, and so will be your land and people. Do you understand what I have told you?"

Tony finished translating, a little hoarsely, and the girls nodded. Suddenly Sofia jumped out of her bed, ran to Brynja, and threw her arms around her.

"Mama, no va! NO VA! Reyina Boudicca nunca venga otra ves! No va!" Brynja hugged the child gently, and walked over to Elsa, who was reaching for her too.

"It's ok. I will come back. Don't be afraid," she soothed. Turning to Tony, who hadn't spoken, she said "Tell them!"

"I thought you didn't understand Spanish," he rasped.

"I don't, much, but Sofia knows the story. She must have heard it before, probably from her mother in Spain," she explained. "She knows how it ended, but," she turned to Sofia, and tilted her chin up with one hand, "I am not Queen Boudicca. I will come back to you. I promise."

The child sniffed. "Promesa?"

Brynja nodded. "Promesa." She pointed to the child's bed. "You, get in bed, now." The girl's eyes widened, and she scurried back under her covers. Brynja kissed them both on the head and tucked them in, as did Abby, and finally Tony. They said goodbye to Sandra (who was in tears) and left the room.

The three of them were almost to the nurse's station when Tony turned to Brynja again. He was a little red-eyed, as was Abby.

"How in the hell did you come up with a story like that on short notice," he demanded? "I thought you said you didn't have time for movies?"

Brynja barked a laugh. "I don't, Tony. I have this hobby called 'reading'. Maybe you should try it sometime…"

"You're joking! Somebody actually wrote that story? I wonder if McGee knows them. It sounds like it's up his alley," he mused.

"Tony, I swear you're impossible," Abby groused. "A college degree and everything, and I bet you never took a single lit class. The story of Queen Boudicca isn't fiction, you knucklehead, it's history. Kind of ironic, too, if you think about the setting," she added.

"I know, that's why I chose that one, among other reasons," admitted Brynja.

"Ok, I'll bite, what's the setting?"

Brynja and Abby both rolled their eyes at him.

"Go ahead, Abby. He wouldn't believe it from me, anyway," said Brynja.

"Silly Buckeye," Abby scolded, "King Irenaus and Queen Boudicca lived in ancient England. The city Boudicca destroyed was the Roman colony of Londinium. I think you've heard of it? It's called London now. And the region she fought to defend was Norfolk."

"Ok, that's just too much," complained Tony. "I've got to pee. Where's the head?"

"We're supposed to stay together," Brynja reminded him.

"I can do this by myself, thank you," groused Tony. "Besides, don't you have a terrible urge of your own, courtesy of green tea and half a gallon of Caf-Pow, deep inside your bladders, promising to erupt and explode out of you at any given moment?"

"Dang, I didn't until you said that," grumped Abby. "Thanks a lot."

The nurse pointed them down opposite halls, and the trio split up into separate restrooms. Abby stayed with Brynja, while Tony ducked into the men's room.

Once safely away from the women, Tony relieved himself and splashed water on his face. He hated showing the emotions surging inside him at the girls' stories, and welcomed the relative solitude of the restroom. It gave him the needed seconds he needed to break down and re-compose. He leaned over the sink, nodding absentmindedly as a janitor walked to the urinal behind him.

"God, what a day," he muttered.

"Oi'," said another voice, as a hot stream of filth impacted Tony's leg.

"What the hell-!" Tony started, whipping around to see who was peeing on his Versace pants. He got one horrified glimpse of the man's face before a fist hit him, and the lights went out.

"And they say women take forever in the head," complained Abby. "No more fries for that man!"

Both Abby and Brynja had taken their turn in the ladies room, and were now waiting for Tony to emerge from the men's restroom. It had been a full 20 minutes.

"I say we give him another 10 minutes, and then one of us goes in after him," offered Brynja.

"I'm NOT going into some anonymous public men's room without a warrant, a sidearm, and backup," Abby declared. "That's one cesspool this Goth doesn't wade into! Besides, five bucks says he's just trying to keep from crying in front of us, and is disguising it as a mega-dump."

"He does have a softer side, he's just too macho to let it out," agreed Brynja. "That interview was rough."

"Not as rough as Gibbs is gonna be if he finds out how long Tony left us sitting—ohmygod! Tony!" Abby leaped to her feet and ran to Tony, who made his way down the hall slouching, a bloody paper towel pressed to his head.

Brynja, close behind Abby, caught the reek of his clothing as she ran to support his other side. "Ugh! I thought you said you could handle things! What happened to you?"

He waved them off. "Some loser mugged me in the john, is all. He pissed on my pants and then busted me in the face. I still have my wallet, but I think he took the money out of it. Where's the parking lot? We have to get back to the office, but I need to stop and get some fresh pants first."

Abby caught him under one elbow. "No, you don't. You're seeing a doctor, and I'm calling Gibbs. You could have a concussion."

"Nahahahahah, knock it off," Tony grouched. "I've been hit harder than this before. Geez. I just need to get home, shower, and change. Gibbs, if he wants to, can meet us at my place. Where's my keys?"

"In my hand; I picked your pocket," Brynja snapped. "You are in no shape to drive. Abby, you drive, and I'll call Gibbs." She reached for her phone, and Tony snatched for it at the same time.

"What is this, a mutiny? I can face my own boss, thanks," Tony groused, but between the two of them Brynja's phone fell to the floor and snapped in two.

"Thank God that isn't my compact mirror, DiNozzo," Brynja growled, "because I would have to really hurt you if it was. Get in the car, you big baby."

"Men!" Abby exclaimed. "Brynja, if you have to, handcuff him to the back seat. I'm driving. First stop, Tony's house. We'll use his landline to call Gibbs, and then we'll take Mr. Macho Man in to face the music."

"Oh, great, is somebody going to turn on the radio? Because this pounding in my head has no rhythm at all," Tony said.

Brynja rolled her eyes.

TBC.


	14. Chapter 14

Director Vance sat at his desk, looking over one of the case files Officer Frost had left for him on a flash drive. The case was large enough to warrant every spare agent, including him, and he didn't want to miss anything. He scowled at the pictures appearing on his screen. Everything about them was ugly.

The phone next to him beeped: his secretary paging him. He pushed the intercom button and spoke: "Yes, Cynthia?"

"Director, Captain Daniel Hunt is on Line 3. He says it's urgent."

"Thank you, Cynthia." He disconnected the intercom connection and grabbed the phone. "Yes, Captain Hunt, what can I do for you?"

"Director Vance, we may have a problem; one of my crew members is AWOL. He may have been gone since the middle of the night, and he wasn't part of the group arrested by Gibbs and company yesterday."

Vance sat up straighter, adrenaline surging. "You got a name for me, Captain?"

"Yes, Director. It's Chief Petty Officer Coy Themys, my Quartermaster. I'm sending you his information page now." There was a moment's pause, and then the young captain spoke again. "Director, I've got a bad feeling about this man. He's not technically an American sailor. He volunteered out of the French navy several years ago: came in with a criminal record for assault and battery, which has kept him from advancing in rank even with us. He does his job, and he's damn good at it, but there's always been something about him I didn't much like. I'm sorry I can't be more specific than that…"

"Don't apologize, Captain Hunt. If this is our monster, he's been running his operation around more seasoned officers than you for some time now. Nobody asked you to be psychic. Thanks for the intel; I'm going to pass it along to Agent Gibbs and his team."

"You're welcome, Director. Do you want me to come into the office? I hate sitting around here when this bastard is doing God knows what on dry land."

"Negative, Captain. Stay with your men. If you need something to do, try rounding up his bunkmates and immediate crew. Some of them may have some interesting stories to tell."

"Affirmative, Director. I'm on it."

"Thank you, Captain." Vance hung up the phone, and tapped the necessary keys on his computer, pulling up the service record sent to him by Captain Hunt. He frowned, then closed the image and headed for his door.

Gibbs, Talon, and McGee stood at the big screen, scrutinizing nearly decade-old photographs of the Edinburg Seven trial pictures. At Gibbs direction, McGee would pull up a particular image from the crowded courtroom shots, bitmapping as needed to create nearly whole portraits of spectators. Most were easily identifiable: friends or family of the accused; several witnesses from the college or local crime lab; Frost and her family; and several different law officers. Gibbs finally pointed at one middle-aged man sitting two rows behind the defense lawyer.

"Any idea who that is, Howard? He looks familiar," mused Gibbs.

"He should; you spoke with him not two hours ago via MTAC," Talon confirmed. "That's a much-younger Director Smythe, when he was Senior Assistant Director Smythe. He was the Interpol liaison to Scotland Yard back then, and helped to investigate the case."

"If he was investigating the case, why is he sitting on the defense's side of the courtroom? The rest of the officers are behind the prosecution," noted McGee.

"It isn't a wedding, Agent McGee," Talon commented. "There is no proper or improper place to sit in a criminal case trial. Furthermore, seating was limited; people were crammed into whatever seats they could find. You can see it's standing-room only in the back," he said, pointing at the picture.

"He has a point, though, Howard," quipped Gibbs. "I've done a lot of court cases, and those seats are usually filled with family of the accused and witnesses for the defense. Who's sitting around him?"

McGee glanced at his computer. "Several family members of the accused, some faculty from the University, and a few people I haven't identified yet. The attendance log was hand-written, and some of the signatures are difficult to read."

"Keep at it, McGee," Gibbs ordered. His phone rang, and he snapped it open. "Yeah, DiNozzo, what have you got for me?"

It wasn't DiNozzo on the other end, though. It was Frost. 

"Agent Gibbs, this is Officer Frost. Can you put me on speaker? It will save some time."

"Yeah, give me a second," Gibbs said, annoyed. "What have you got? And where's Agent DiNozzo? He should be the one calling me, not you."

"We hit a small iceberg, Agent Gibbs; Tony was mugged in the hospital lavatory by a man disguised as a hospital janitor. The man took his cash but left him his wallet, some urine-soaked pants, and a good bump on his head. Abby is bagging and tagging his clothing now, and Tony is in the shower. We're at his place. I can make a whole report from here, or we can come in as soon as Tony is dressed again."

"Is DiNozzo alright? I want to talk to him," Gibbs insisted.

"He insists he's fine, but Abby won't let him drive. I think he needs to see a doctor, but he absolutely refused to be looked at by Emergency Room personnel. He says it will be faster to return to the office."

McGee 'humphed'. "No surprise there. A visit to the ER for a mugging can take hours. Ducky will have him finished in five minutes."

Gibbs nodded, then remembered he was on the phone. "Tony's right. It'll be better to come here after he's changed. Give me a sit rep now, though."

"Give you a what?"

Gibbs groaned and rubbed his forehead. Talon spoke up instead.

"Report, Frost. What did you learn?"

"Hello, Lieutenant. We learned a lot, actually, despite the fact that the girls never directly saw their main assailants' faces."

Talon's eyebrows furrowed. "Did you just use the plural for 'assailants', Frost?"

"I did, sir. We already know that there were multiple perpetrators in the sexual assaults, and Sofia and Elsa were able to identify several already in custody. However, the main ringleaders were careful to wear different masks at all times. Sometimes they were simple stocking covers, and sometimes they were complicated pieces made of latex, the kind used in good All Hallows Eve costumes. The favorite design worn by our monsters was some sort of daemon. The girls even called him "El Diablo"."

"Spanish for 'the Devil'," translated Talon, "go on."

"Sir, I'm certain that Marcois Normand is one of the ringleaders. The main perpetrators made repeated references…let me find Tony's notes…"the devils went on and on about the Valkyrie, how they were going to put out her eye and make sure she would never qualify as a daughter of Odin. She would scream and beg and plead, and in the end, there would be nothing but blood and silence, for she would finally be a good girl. And finally, Loki would have his revenge."

"Son of a bitch," muttered Gibbs. "Who the hell is the 'Valkyrie'," he demanded, "and what's this crap about Odin and Loki?"

"It's a reference to Norse Mythology, Boss," offered McGee. "The Valkyrie were the virgin daughters of Odin, King of the Gods. They were similar to guardian angels in battle, except that when they tapped a warrior, it meant he was especially good AND about to die. The warrior tapped would go on a fierce rampage and….you don't care to hear the rest." Gibbs was already rolling his eyes.

"And this means what, Officer Frost," Gibbs asked?

"'Valkyrie' was my nickname in college, Agent Gibbs." Gibbs felt a chill even as she spoke. "My first boyfriend gave it to me, and it stuck after that. Marcois always thought it was funny, especially since his middle name was Loki."

"The Norse God of mischief, destined to destroy Valhalla," offered Talon, nodding.

"Yes. We joked about it several times, especially when our relationship began to get serious. Only Marcois would know both references, and be obsessive enough to use it."

"Anything else, Frost," Talon asked?

"Yes, sir. The girls said the Devil had many voices. Marcois' hobby in college was impressions. He could impersonate any voice he heard after about a minute. Accents were his specialty and his major…"

"Yes, Frost," prompted Gibbs? 

"Communication Technologies."

Gibbs and McGee exchanged a knowing look. "Understood. Get back to the bullpen as soon as DiNozzo is dressed. On second thought," Gibbs paused, looking at the time, "stay there. It's already late. We'll meet you at DiNozzo's in a few hours. It's large enough for us all, and I want some extra security on the three of you tonight. I'll have Ducky swing by, too, to take a look at DiNozzo's head."

"I don't think he's all that hurt, Gibbs," Abby said, jumping in on the conversation. "I tried to check his head and eyes when we got here, and he sissy-slapped my hands away. He's a little unsteady, but other than that he seems ok."

"Miss Sciuto, are any of you armed?" Director Vance had walked into the bullpen unnoticed, and his stern voice made them all turn.

"Yes, Director Vance. Tony has his sidearm, and I have a Tazer in my bag. Why?"

"That's good. Listen up, everyone. I just got a call from Captain Hunt. Seems his Quartermaster, Chief Petty Officer Coy Themys, has been AWOL for some time. This guy could be our main perpetrator. I want someone armed and watching at all times. He may be trying to come after Brynja now. I've alerted the hospital as well, in case he tries to reach the girls again."

"Understood, Director. I'll tell Tony when he gets out of the shower. Until then Brynja and I can keep watch. We'll see the rest of you when you get here," Abby offered.

"Abbs, barricade the doors, and stay away from the windows," ordered Gibbs. "I'll call when we get there, so you can let us in."

"Ok, Gibbs."

"Frost, are you still there?" asked Talon.

"Yes, sir."

"I don't like the feel of this. Be extra careful."

"I always am, sir."

"I know, Frost. Get some rest, if you can."

"Understood. Frost out."

The line went dead, and three agents turned to Director Vance, who nodded.

"Agent McGee, call up Chief Petty Officer Coy Themys's service record, and put a picture of Marcois Normand next to it."

"Yes, Director," said McGee, typing furiously. The two pictures were quickly side-by-side on the big screen, but no resemblance showed. Both Gibbs and Vance frowned. Talon's eyes narrowed.

"FRT gives us a negative match here, but Themys seems to fit the profile we have for both 'Grendel' and Normand," Vance growled. "Is there any way Normand could have had plastic surgery to alter his face?"

"That's a possibility Director Vance, but let's try something else first," suggest Talon. "Agent McGee, both Themys and Normand have criminal records. Can you find us mug shots for both?"

"Give me a minute," said McGee, typing. "Mug shots coming up now," he added, looking up at the big screen.

"Good," said Talon. "I want matching side shots, left or right side doesn't matter, just make sure you show me the same side for both men."

"Ok," said McGee, typing again. "How's that?" The picture changed on the screen again, profiles for both 'Normand' and 'Themys' appearing.

"What are you looking for, Talon?" Gibbs asked, mildly curious.

"His ears," the lanky Interpol agent answered. "DNA takes too long to match, and your forensic scientist is out for the evening. Fingerprints can be altered. Features can be changed with surgery or latex, but most people forget about their ears. They're as individual as fingerprints,"

"And they never change," finished Gibbs. "Good one, Howard! What have you got?"

Talon stepped close to the screen. "That's our guy, all right. See how the lobes match? And this area on the top, how it swirls in, with this fork right here?" He pointed to the forward portion of both men's ears. "Normand and Themys are the same person."

"Nailed his ass. Good job, Lieutenant Talon. McGee, put out a BOLO on Themys/Normand. I'm calling Captain Hunt, so he can put Themys into custody in case he sneaks back onboard," Vance said, reaching for a phone. "You gentlemen can find your own homework assignments, I'm sure."

"I wanted to ask you about that, Boss," McGee spoke to Gibbs, who raised an eyebrow. "I know that Abby and Brynja were working on some voice recognition programming downstairs before they left. I had an idea that might provide us with an identifiable match, something to find the Interpol mole. If I can go down to Forensics," he began, but Gibbs cut him off.

"Go, McGee. Run your hunch. Talon and I can handle things here," Gibbs ordered. The young tech nodded, rose and left.

"He's a good agent," Talon noted.

"He is," Gibbs agreed, "and growing nicely. You should have seen him when he first arrived. Green as grass. DiNozzo hazed the hell out of him, but he's standing up to him now. Still has this annoying tendency to speak in techno-babble, though."

"Frost can be the same way. You should have met her before Auten got his hands on her—not literally," Talon said, catching a look from Gibbs, "I mean that in the figurative sense. She was all book, and no street smarts. Auten broke her in properly, unlike her other partners. They tore through Europe like a modern-day Batman and Batgirl before he was killed. This was his last case."

"Which explains why she's so eager to close it, and why she won't quit," Gibbs thought out loud. "If the person responsible for this carnage killed my partner, I wouldn't quit either."

"Right," agreed Talon, absentmindedly staring at the mug shots of Themys/Normand still on the screen.

"Something bothering you," Gibbs asked Talon? "You look worried."

"Yes, just not something I can identify right now," the tall Interpol officer answered darkly. "Something isn't right. I can feel it."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed. "Always trust a gut. What does yours tell you?"

Talon looked at him.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Tony finally emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a bathrobe and toweling his hair. He had even applied liberal amounts of his preferred cologne.

"But that was totally unnecessary," Abby said, coughing a little from the cloud, "you're sexy enough without it." That made him smile.

"I had to do something to get that stench out of my mind, though. I swear that guy had been saving pure ammonia for the occasion," he joked.

"You really reeked," Abby agreed.

"So what did Gibbs say? Do I need to call in," he asked, wincing as he rubbed the sore spot on his head? "Or should I report when we get to the office? I can be dressed in 5."

"Don't bother; we're all spending the night here. Gibbs and whoever is coming with him will be here in a few hours. He's bringing Dr. Mallard by to look at your head, too, and I don't think you'll be able to sissy-slap your way out of that, so don't try," cautioned Brynja.

"Don't worry. I'll be a good boy," he said a little hoarsely. "Anybody hungry? I'm going to raid the fridge," he said, walking into the kitchen.

"Nah, I'm still full from the Micky D's we had at the hospital," Abby volunteered. "Can I use your shower, though? I didn't get to really finish this morning at Brynja's place. I still feel kind of soapy and icky."

"Sure, Abigail. You know where the towels and stuff are, right?" Tony spoke over his shoulder as he walked. "If you want, help yourself to one of my T-shirts after you get out. You'll have something to sleep in that way, and your clothing can air."

Abby looked at him quizzically at Tony's use of her proper name. "Sure, 'Anthony', thanks. You don't happen to have an extra coffin around here for our group sleepover, do you?"

He grinned wickedly. "Just the European King, sweetie. We'll all fit just fine, and snuggle REAL close." He winked at her, and her jaw dropped open at his freshness.

"Anthony DiNozzo! You BAD boy," she exclaimed. "I am SO telling McGee!"

"I am SO not worried," he joked back, sticking his tongue out at her. Abby threw up her hands, grabbed a towel and a dark T-shirt from Tony's room, and disappeared into the still-steamy bathroom.

Brynja chuckled at them both, following Tony into the kitchen. "I'm not hungry," she explained, "just thirsty. Can I have a glass of water?"

"Sure," he replied, rummaging in his lower cupboards. "Try the cupboard above the sink. I should have some glasses there. Now where did I leave that frying pan," he muttered to himself.

Brynja looked around at him. "You lost your own frying pan? You need a wife." She shook her head. "I'm amazed you haven't starved to death before now."

"I eat out a lot," he explained, standing up with the pan. He had found it beneath the oven. Placing it on the stove, he turned to where Brynja was filling her glass at the sink. He put his hands on her shoulders and rubbed her arms, hoarsely whispering in her ear from behind, "Is that an offer, Sykurhjupa? I haven't forgotten our little game from this morning."

Brynja stiffened, surprised at the contact, and laughed. "No, Tony, just a joke. Must you always play the promiscuous American stereotype? I think you would tire of it, eventually."

"I'm tired, Brynja, not dead," he breathed into her ear, and his nose moved down her neck even as his arms encircled her waist. "I'm glad Abigail is in the shower. I was hoping we could have a little privacy, before everyone gets here."

"Tony!" Brynja stiffened completely, and grabbed Tony's fingers, prying them from her waist. Stepping out of his grasp, she looked at him with her brow furrowed. "Stop this! This morning was an act, and you know it. You knew it then. We aren't dating; we're working together on a case! This isn't some casual sleepover; it's a protection detail. What's come over you?"

Tony backed off, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Pardon me, Miss Iceland! I was just trying to make this get-together a little friendlier; that's all. I didn't realize there was a continental divide to cross." He turned back to the fridge, and dug out some eggs, butter, and bread.

"What is THAT supposed to mean," Brynja asked angrily?

"Oh, come on, Brynja. It isn't like you haven't spent the night with a man before. I know you bunked with your gaybait partner more than once. Are you telling me you never played even a _little_?" Tony 'splatted' some butter in the pan, and turned on the stove. It started to melt, and he found a spatula to stir it with. "You can get cozy with him, and not me? It's just a little fun."

"Fun for whom, Tony? And where is the attitude coming from?" Brynja glared at him, hands on her hips. "I told you before: Liam never, ever crossed this line with me. He was in a relationship that meant a lot to him, even if _you_ don't approve of it. It isn't your business what he did, any more than it was mine. And it didn't affect his work, either," she snapped. "Can you say the same of your 'play'," she demanded, "that it hasn't affected your work relationships? We aren't talking about golf or baseball. This is a serious, intimate action, not a casual way to enjoy a quiet evening among friends."

Tony smirked. "You're in America, sweetheart, not Iceland. Things are different here. You know the old saying, 'When in Rome'?"

Brynja's glare got deeper. "In Rome, some men put on black robes and white collars, and take vows of celibacy. If you ever visit Rome, will you join them, or will you remain yourself, do your job, and enjoy the scenery?"

Tony inhaled. "Good one! I hadn't thought of it that way." He cracked some eggs into the hot butter, and stirred them with the spatula, scrambling them in the pan. He concentrated on cooking his eggs for a minute, rummaging through the cupboards for a plate, and dumped the steaming yellow mass onto it. "Eggs," he offered?

"No, thank you, I'm full," she said crisply. He continued staring at her over his plate, and her brow furrowed even deeper. "I'm just surprised that you would act like this, considering our conversation this morning. How hard did that man hit you? I thought you understood how I felt about sex."

"And I thought the same thing! Brynja," he said, "I LIKE you! Is that so hard to understand? Did you think I was acting this morning?"

Brynja closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, silently wishing Abby would hurry in the shower. "Yes, Tony, I did. We haven't known each other two days yet, and even that is in a _working_ relationship. You're a good-looking man, almost a decent friend, and a great cop, but I DON'T LOVE YOU." She emphasized the last portion of her sentence, looking him in the eyes and leaning forward. "I don't know what kind of relationship you've had with Abby, or Kate, or your last partner, whoever she was, and it doesn't matter. I'm not any of them. I don't live here. And when this case is over, I'm leaving. We'll probably NEVER see each other again. How can you consider such an intimate act with someone you don't know, who is going to leave you? Even in play?"

"Welcome to my world, Brynja Frost," Tony said softly. "I don't have anybody, not on a permanent basis, at least. This is normal for me," he insisted. "I like you, and believe it or not, I care about you. I move fast; that's who I am." He put down his plate. "I didn't mean to offend you. Quite the opposite."

"Anthony DiNozzo," Brynja said softly, walking up to him, and looking into his eyes. "Are you or are you not worth more than a one-night stand?"

His eyes narrowed. "Of course! That's not—"

"So you don't think **I** deserve more than that. Is that it?" He cleared his throat, and looked away, and she put two fingers on his chin, directing his face back to hers. "I haven't FALLEN in love enough to consider MAKING love, so I should just **settle** for a casual **bang** with a new friend?" Her eyes hardened, and the last words were bitter.

"I didn't say that," his eyes hardened, and he spoke harshly. "Don't put words like that in my mouth, woman."

"Then start thinking about what you ARE saying, MAN." He grabbed her hand and harshly pulled it away from his face. She stiffened again, pulling her hand out of his. "And don't speak nonsense. If you had thought about this, you wouldn't have made such a ridiculous proposal. You don't know me at all, but you want to share a bed? With another agent in the next room, I suppose? With my boss and yours on the way?" She shook her head. "Don't tell me you can't control yourself, or that you're this obsessed after two minutes of acting this morning. We didn't even kiss!"

Tony's hand caught her face quickly, cupping her jaw again, and his thumb brushed her lips heavily. "Thought about it. You haven't? Not even once? I find that hard to believe." His other arm snaked around her waist again, and she put a restraining hand on his chest.

"Tony, stop," she said gently. "I haven't kissed anybody in a very long time, not even Daniel, but I thought about it with him. We were actually dating in Izmir, remember?" She chided him a little, pushing off his chest. "You and I—we aren't dating. We aren't even co-workers. I don't have feelings for you, not like that. Not enough to kiss, definitely not enough to consider sleeping with you. My first time—I want to be in love. Is that too much to ask?"

Tony's grip never loosened. "Your mouth says one thing, but your body says something else, Brynja," he breathed. "I can see your pulse increasing. I can feel your body tensing against mine. Blood flow to your lips," he gripped her tighter, "sex flush rising to your cheeks. Hair rising on your neck when I breathe on it: increased sensitivity. Your breasts are beginning to respond: I can see through your blouse. Down below….Don't tell me you aren't interested. You've lived with your defenses up for so long, you don't know how to stop the recording," he pulled her closer, and she stiffened. His other hand found the back of her head, and he pulled one ear to his lips. "I can do this," he breathed, "you'll enjoy every minute. I can tell you what your body is doing right now, what it will do as I start exploring." One hand moved inside the back of her blouse, and he heard her inhale sharply. "You know you want this from me; you're curious. Let's just explore this, and see how far it goes."

"Tony," she croaked, and he saw the tears beginning in her eyes, "I can't…do this. I'm sorry. I'm not ready…"

"Shhhhh," he soothed, smoothing her hair, and kissing her gently on her cheek, just where the tear was starting to fall. "It's ok. It's normal to be nervous," he stroked her hair again, embracing her tighter, pulling her hips into his, allowing her to feel his erection. "We'll go slow. You don't have to be afraid. You can let yourself melt a little; it's ok."

"Tony," she sniffed, "what about protection? I'm not READY for this, not tonight…I can't…let myself. We can't…"

"Shhhh," he soothed again, releasing her head, and cupping her chin with his hand again. "Don't worry. I have protection. You'll be fine," he soothed, "more than fine. You'll be mine, at least for tonight," he growled suggestively, his mouth finally finding hers. He kissed her deeply, his tongue fiercely working behind her teeth, then down the front of her neck. His other hand massaged her back, underneath her blouse, then started traveling down, plucking at the edge of her underwear.

"Tony," she moaned, running her hands across his chest, "Tony, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what," he rasped?

"Sorry I left you behind," she answered.

And she kicked him in the groin.

"I'll tell you what's bothering his gut," said Fornell. Gibbs, Vance, and Talon turned at the arrival of the FBI agent.

"Where have you been, Tobias? I thought you were heading home," asked Gibbs.

"In the john. Bad stomachache; I think I had some bad cole slaw at lunch. Anyway, I think I know what's bothering Talon," he offered again.

"You wanna share with the rest of the class, Tobias? Or are you gonna tease me like the young Probies do before I slap the back of their heads?" Gibbs grouched.

"Do I look like a redhead? No. Keep your hands to yourself, Jethro. This whole setup just stinks. Two little girl-victims practically gift-wrapped and dropped off for you. Two living witnesses programmed like dolls to deliver a message. This damn bastard is supposedly leaving you a picture of your target, and it's himself? It's too damn easy. That's what stinks. This creep has supposedly jumped ship and is hunting DC for Frost? The hell he is. He's been profiling Frost for a long time now. He knows Standard Operating Procedure in a rape case; he's been creating them! You don't have to put out a BOLO out over all of DC for this guy, just the Hospital. He'll turn up there sooner or later. Of course, he'll be disguised as a doctor or something, but—"

"Shit," said Talon, turning and running towards the elevator. "SHIT! Come on, guys, move!" Gibbs and Fornell exchanged a look, and ran after him.

"Where are we going," asked Gibbs?

"To catch a pervert," gasped the Interpol Lieutenant. His normally dark face was oddly green. "I just hope we're in time. God, let us be in time."

NCIA Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was cold. _Why am I so cold?_ he wondered, _ and why is it so dark? _

Everything hurt. His head REALLY hurt. His sore shoulder hurt. His arms hurt, and his wrists felt funny. He felt like somebody had beaten the living crap out of him, and had left him…handcuffed? Where? He tried to move. The surface he was on was hard, oddly textured, and stank like urine.

_I'm naked,_ he thought, then corrected himself. _No, I'm still wearing my briefs. I must be in a bathroom, but where? _

Memory rushed in, along with air to his lungs.

Tony started to yell. He shouted himself hoarse before he finally heard footsteps. Someone walked into the bathroom and turned on a light.

It was a nurse.

Abby stepped out of the shower.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Abby stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and scoured herself dry. Over the exhaust fan she heard a loud 'thump', and then a couple of raised voices.

_Great,_ she thought, _Gibbs is here already, and is on the warpath again. I hope he doesn't finish off Tony's probable-concussion with one of his head-slaps._ She ran a brush through her wet hair, frowning at the increasing noise from the living room. Grabbing the T-shirt she had borrowed from Tony, she quickly threw it on. It was too large in the chest (of course, Tony lifted weights now, and his shoulders were waaaay bigger than hers were), but it didn't quite cover her derriere. _Can't have the boss going blind, or Tony either, _she thought, and grabbed her pants. Pulling them on, she stepped out into the hallway.

Into chaos.

End tables were over-turned, couches and chairs shoved around, and magazines flew in every conceivable direction. A lamp lay askew on the floor. As Abby stood open-mouthed in shock Brynja jump-kicked Tony in the chest, sending him backwards into his thin line, wide-screen TV. It toppled backwards and then fell to the floor, shattering. Tony picked himself up from his ruined entertainment center, naked from the waist up and oddly pale, and launched himself, snarling, at Brynja, who glimpsed the freshly-showered Abby emerging from the bathroom.

"ABBY! GET OUT," she screamed. "RUN!" She was only distracted for an instant, but it was long enough.

Tony football-tackled Brynja, knocking her to the floor, pinning her with his right hand to her chest, and swinging a heavy left fist at her face. He barely missed; Abby pounced herself on the swinging arm, yanking it nearly from its socket with her body weight.

"TONY! BRYNJA! STOP IT!" Abby bellowed. "WHAT THE HELL-" but she wasn't able to finish. Tony countered her attack, spinning with it and grabbing her around the waist, kicking Brynja in the process. Abby squirmed in Tony's grip, but he was far stronger, and he wrestled her to the floor. Looking up in horror, she saw part of Tony's face had peeled away, as if in a horror movie faux injury, but without any blood. The doppelganger sneered, pinning her to the floor by her throat.

"Wait your turn, cherie," he growled, his accent suddenly thick and French. "I'll get to you soon enough."

"She's too much woman for you, Marc," spat Brynja, kick-standing, "but then, so is the average twelve-year-old." She threw an errant chair out of her way. "Will you hide behind a hostage again, or have you finally grown a spine? This is between us, _asni_."

"Jealousy doesn't become you, Valkyrie," he sneered, stroking Abby's wet hair. "There's enough of me to go around," he looked down at Abby's terrified face, "and I like brunettes as well as blondes. You know that." He winked at Abby, and blew her a kiss, panting. "Stay down, cherie. My sweetheart and I have to settle things, then you can have a turn." Grabbing her by the hair, he smacked her head into the floor. Abby went limp. Marcois stood and turned back to face Brynja. "Still so unladylike, Val! And you wonder why I chose your roommate over you? Time you learned your place, cherie." He swung at her again, left-handed, and she ducked and socked him twice in the ribcage. "What, no kiss?"

"You're a lousy kisser, Marc. Always were," Brynja emphasized the point with a well-aimed punch. "You should have stuck to mannequins. Dolls are more your speed." She kicked him in the kneecap, and he growled in pain. Eyes bloodshot, fueled with adrenaline, he swung at Brynja again, catching her in the midriff, then pinned her to the wall by her throat. He started to squeeze.

"Let's skip the foreplay this time," he said through clenched teeth, and grabbed the front of her blouse with his other hand.

A nurse snapped the light on in the men's room. "What's going on in here," she demanded? "What's all the—oh my god," she exclaimed, rushing to Tony, "what happened to you? Who did this?"

"Never mind! I have to call my boss NOW! A killer has my co-workers; I have to call NCIS," Tony yelled! His face and voice were frantic, manic. "He could be killing them right now!"

Horrified, the nurse nodded, then turned and ran to the door. "MARINE! MAN DOWN," she bellowed. "ORDERLY! SHEET! MOVE NOW!"

The anthill started to boil.

Gibbs stomped on the accelerator, and the engine howled as he swerved through traffic. Horns blared as he whipped around a corner, and he heard Fornell curse as the man grabbed his armrest. Talon, riding a Harley, kept up nicely behind him; the man would have pulled ahead if he knew where they were going.

Gibbs cell phone went off in his pocket. He swerved around another car, horns blaring, then dug his phone out and tossed it to Fornell. "Answer," he ordered through clenched teeth.

Fornell glanced at the caller id: "Unknown". He punched the 'talk' key, "Yeah! Talk! You got Gibbs' phone, this is Tobias Fornell, FBI!"

"Fornell! This is DiNozzo! He's got Abby…Brynja…he's wearing my face…HE'S GOT THE GIRLS!"

"DiNozzo? Where are you?" Fornell glanced at Gibbs, who swerved around another corner. "What happened?"

"Janitor…wearing my face…hit me while I was in the head. He took everything…he's wearing my face, my clothing…the girls don't know," DiNozzo groaned. "I don't know where they are….dammit….Gibbs….tell Gibbs….and Talon…."

"We're know where they are. We're en route now, DiNozzo," Fornell shouted into the phone. "Where are you?"

"Hospital…still here….the kids…."

"Stay there! We'll send someone to pick you up!" Fornell jabbed the 'off' button, and set the phone down between the seats. "DiNozzo's still at the hospital. He said whoever hit him is disguised…."

"As him," growled Gibbs. "Probably with a latex mask, and I bet he stole DiNozzo's clothing, too. Hang on!" He swerved around a truck, horns blaring again, and lost sight of Talon and the bike. "Almost there!"

"God," Fornell sounded like he was praying. "Let us be in time."

Talon swerved around another car, fuming at his lack of direction. He didn't mind Gibbs driving so fast; it was just frustrating having to depend on following the maniac. He blinked. "I'm an idiot," he breathed, and touched a button on his helmet. A phone dialed.

"Interpol Agency Hotline: Corporal Halley speaking. Please state your department and the nature of your emergency."

"Corporal Halley? Lieutenant Talon: track me! I need a street address for NCIS Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. Officer Frost is in distress, and in need of backup. I'm en route now. You copy?"

"Copy that, Lieutenant; I have the address already—that's weird. Tracking you now, sir, you're almost there. Bike or car?"

"Bike!"

"Hard right, NOW! Cut through the mall, you'll see an apartment complex ahead of you. Copy?"

"Affirmative."

"You're coming in the back, sir. Agent DiNozzo's apartment is 3D. You want backup?"

"Negative. I already have backup. Halley-keep this on the downlow. We have a problem in the house."

"Understood, sir. Kick ass."

"Talon out."

He opened up the throttle.

Dazed, Abby opened her eyes from her spot on the floor. The fake Tony had Brynja pinned to a wall by her throat, and was starting to tear off her shirt. Scrambling to her feet, Abby darted into the kitchen, looking for a knife, a spoon, anything she could use as a weapon….

Perfection. She grabbed it, and ran back into the living room.

Brynja brought her knee up into Marc's stomach, and the air 'whooshed' out of his lungs. Her fingers clawed at his eyes, and he released the hold on her throat, dropping her to the floor. She twisted, trying to escape his grasp, but he slapped her—HARD—and she went down. Marc sat on her stomach, grabbing each of her wrists, and pinned her on her back.

"Where's your partner now, cherie," he taunted? "Where's your superhero now?"

"BASTARD," screamed Abby, "I'M RIGHT HERE!"

And she swung the frying pan at his head.

Gibbs swerved around the parking obstructions, pulling up to the front door as Talon's Harley cut through the grass in the back. All three agents jumped out, pulling their weapons and heading for different doors.

It was oddly quiet. Residents walking through the complex stared at them, open mouthed, and had to be warned off in stage whispers. Gibbs approached the door marked "DiNozzo, A." and "3D", and pounded on it. "FEDERAL AGENTS, OPEN UP!"

From inside the apartment, they heard a distant "crack", as if something had been kicked off its hinges, and a small scream. "Hell," Gibbs said, and started to kick down the door when it was thrown open. A dripping and disheveled Abby stared at him for a heartbeat, then threw herself into his arms, sobbing. Grabbing his empty hand, she dragged him inside.

Gibbs and Fornell pushed their way into the shattered living room, where Talon already knelt, fishing out handcuffs. Next to Talon stood a disheveled Frost, whose right foot firmly held a half-naked Tony-sized man on the floor by his neck. A broken frying pan lay on the floor next to him.

"Agents Gibbs and Fornell, Lieutenant Talon," she wiped some blood away from the corner of her mouth and motioned to the man under her foot, "My ex-boyfriend: Marcois Normand." Her voice was flat, emotionless.

Gibbs caught her eyes again. The ice had hardened.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

Brynja took her foot off of Normand's neck as Talon finished cuffing him. The man groaned as he was rolled over; Abby's swing with the frying pan had disabled him without killing. Talon hauled him unsteadily to his feet.

"Squadcar on the way," he asked, "or do I just toss him in the back of Gibbs' vehicle? No way is this filth riding with me," the tall Native insisted.

"I have a car on the way," Gibbs said. "Are you sure you want to give up jurisdiction on this one? It was your officer that made the collar."

"Yes," Frost and Talon said together, then looked at each other curiously. Frost nodded to her superior, and he continued. "We have a problem in our house, Agent Gibbs, and this man is still technically American Navy property. This is a joint operation, and I might point out, a joint collar; Agent Sciuto was here as well. You can take the prisoner into custody." Gibbs nodded, looked at Frost, then moved to help Talon with the still-groggy Normand.

"Abbs, you ok," Gibbs asked? She had sat down on one of the kicked-aside chairs, and looked a little dazed.

"Yeah, Gibbs. Just a little sore where he hit me." Gibbs growled as he hauled the bleeding Normand out the door. Abby looked around the room. "God, what a mess."

Brynja looked around the destroyed room. "Don't clean, Abby." Abby looked at her with raised eyebrows, and she shrugged. "It's still a crime scene." Looking down at her front, she realized for the first time that her blouse was half-open. "Oh. Oh, dear. Excuse me," she said, and walked into the kitchen.

Fornell followed her, and found her trying—unsuccessfully—to close the front of her shirt. Several buttons were missing, and her hands had started to shake. He stripped off the light FBI jacket he was wearing and offered it to her. "Here. It's a little big for you, but you can close it."

"Thanks," she said, accepting it from him and struggling to put it on. The shaking in her hands became worse, and she had trouble with the snaps. She shuddered once, and slouched against the kitchen counter, looking at her hands. "I can't make it stop."

"Adrenaline rush, and you're probably in shock. Did he hurt you?" Fornell's tone was kind without being condescending.

"I don't think so. We traded a lot, and one of my ears is ringing—he slapped me on the side of the head—but I don't think I have anything serious. Odd, though," she said, looking at her shaking hands, "my knuckles _really hurt_."

Fornell took her hands in his, and turned them over to examine the backs. "I think they're a little bruised, is all. You should have grabbed the frying pan first, instead of using your fists for so long. I'll get you some ice," he said, letting go of her hands and turning to the freezer.

"I didn't," she said. An errant tear raced down her face, and she wiped it with shaking hands.

"Didn't what," Fornell asked, rummaging through a cabinet for a plastic bag?

"I didn't use the frying pan. Abby did." Brynja paused and took a shuddering breath. "Marc had me on the floor—he was on top of me—and Abby swung at him from behind. God, she was great." More tears slipped out of her eyes, and she shuddered again. The tremors in her hands were spreading. "What's wrong with me?"

Fornell turned back to her with the ice pack, but dropped in on the counter. "Nothing. Everything. Come here," he said, taking her by the arms and pulling her upright.

She inhaled sharply. "Tony," she said, panic returning to her eyes, "Marc must have—"

"DiNozzo's fine, he called us from the hospital. C'mere," he said gruffly, pulling her into a gentle embrace.

"What," she said a little weakly, "why?"

"It's a shoulder, Frost," the grizzled FBI agent said, cradling her head into it. "You cry on it."

Gibbs walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, curious at the muffled sobs he heard from the living room, but was waved off by a scowling Fornell and the mouthed words "_Beat it."_ Abby shrugged at the surprised look on his face.

"You haven't been Mr. Congeniality lately, Gibbs," she explained, her voice a little scratchy, "and Fornell isn't _always_ a really mean bastard." She shook a little, too. "Is Tony ok?"

"Yeah, he's alright. He called me from the hospital." He sat down next to her, and put a hand on her back. "You sure you're ok, Abbs? Where did he hit you?"

"He whacked my head on the floor, is all. Goose egg; I'll be fine." She shuddered. "Is this finally over? Did we get the last monster?"

Gibbs sighed deeply. He suddenly felt very old, and very tired. "I don't know, Abby. I don't know."

McGee frowned, scowling at Abby's computer as he transferred audio data. He really wanted a CafPow, his body was aching for either sleep or caffeine, but he was too engrossed in his work to make the trip.

"Not D'Conyours, even though he's French," he muttered, "and not Talon: he's Canadian. Auten is dead. One former partner from Germany, the other is from England. Normand has no ties to Interpol, except as a suspect…Themys is Normand…speaker is male, eliminates most female agents and support staff…" He paused and wiped his face, taking a deep breath and shaking his head. "This is a nightmare." He thought for a moment, and started moving data again. "What the hell, it always works for Gibbs…"

"What always works for Gibbs, Agent McGee?" Director Vance had walked into the lab unnoticed. McGee jumped and turned.

"Oh, Director Vance…I was just thinking aloud…trying to figure out the Interpol connection. We've had several phone calls and a few MTAC conferences in the past six months. I've been running the voiceprint from Director Smythe's email file against every recording of Interpol personnel we have…"

"Anything, Agent McGee," Vance asked?

McGee scowled nervously. "No, and I'm running out of personnel. Whoever the mole was at the time of Auten's murder, he may no longer work for that agency. This is a three-year old murder, Director Vance. The trail is more than a little cold."

"It's hotter than you know, Agent McGee. I just talked to Gibbs. Normand was just apprehended at DiNozzo's place; he was impersonating DiNozzo, and attacked both Frost and Sciuto while in disguise."

"WHAT! Are they…" McGee's distress was obvious.

"Don't worry: the girls are fine. Point is; when Talon called his staff for directions to DiNozzo's place, Interpol's search engine already had it waiting. Somebody within the organization had looked it up, and recently. This isn't just any mole, Agent McGee; it's a super-sized Norway rat. Normand 'became' Tony DiNozzo for a few hours with inside help, probably the same person that watched Auten _die_. That inside man is still at large and in charge," Vance growled. "Now, what was it you were saying that always worked for Gibbs?"

"Just that….he suspects everybody, Director Vance, and….oh, god." His eyes widened. "I eliminated a suspect I shouldn't have, Director." He typed furiously, and then played the selection against the voice print software. The computer 'beeped' softly, and both men turned to look at the screen. It was blinking:

POSITIVE MATCH

"Shit," said Vance.

Tony was in Examination Room 3 when Gibbs arrived with Fornell, Abby, Talon, and Brynja in tow. He wore a borrowed pair of hospital slacks, but was bare from the waist up, and had no shoes. A nurse was putting the finishing touches on a chest bandage just as the group entered, and he wore a large gauze pad on his forehead.

"I'm sorry, folks, this room is in use. You'll have to wait in the—" she began, but Tony interrupted.

"It's ok, they're family."

"Ah," she said, securing the tape on his ribs. "Well, hopefully they brought you some clothing. I'm done. Remember," she chided Tony, "nothing strenuous. Your ribs are bruised, but not broken, and you have a mild concussion. You need to fill out some paperwork, and you're ready to leave," she said. Gathering her supplies, she left the room.

An awkward silence fell, broken finally by Abby.

"I brought you some pants and a shirt. Didn't think to grab shoes, though. Sorry." Abby sniffed a little, and Tony caught her eyes—a little bloodshot.

"Abbs-Brynja-I….."

"Please get dressed, Tony," Brynja said hoarsely. "We can talk outside, or back at the office. Not here. I'll be in the waiting room," she told the others, and walked out of Exam 3. Talon followed.

"Abbs-" Tony began again.

"She's right, Tony: not here. Get dressed." Impulsively, Abby threw her arms around his neck. "I'm glad you're ok," she whispered, then fled the room. Her eyes were moist.

Tony resembled a hanged bloodhound when he felt guilty, and for a moment Gibbs saw the 'dead Ol' Reliable' look on his face. Tony steeled himself for the usual headslap as he pulled on a shirt, glancing over at Gibbs when nothing came.

"You've been hit in the head enough for one day, DiNozzo," Gibbs said to his questioning look, "and the mess in your house is more punishment than corporeal can deliver. You were told to stay _together,"_ the grizzled agent said quietly.

"Did he hurt them?" DiNozzo's eyes were tortured.

"Knocked Abby around a little; traded blows with Brynja. Abby hit him from behind. She broke your frying pan over his head," Fornell explained. "Gibbs called in McAlister and crew to transport him to lockup. He has a mild concussion, but he'll live long enough to go back to an English prison, after we get done with him."

Tony pulled on a pair of pants, wincing as he did so. Everything still hurt; the painkillers hadn't kicked in yet. "Brynja's wearing your jacket, Fornell." It wasn't a question.

"Normand tore open her blouse. He didn't get anywhere," the older man hastened to assure Tony, "because Abby clocked him first. I loaned her the jacket until she could get some of her own clothing," he explained.

"I gotta talk to her," Tony said, wavering a little as he stood up from the exam table. "I gotta..…" he staggered, and Gibbs grabbed him by the elbow.

"Siddown," Gibbs said, grabbing a wheelchair and steering Tony into it. "That's what you gotta do. Let Frost see a doctor, if she needs one, then talk. We're not going back out tonight. Normand is caught; we can rest and hit it in the morning."

Tony's face clouded. "Where am I going tonight? My place is a crime scene."

"Everybody but Fornell's coming to my place," Gibbs insisted, steering Tony out of the exam area. "I have room. We'll be safe if we stay together."

Brynja was on the phone at the nurse's station when Abby came out of Exam 3. Talon stood nearby, his back to the nurse's desk, scanning their surroundings. Abby walked up behind Brynja in time to hear her say:

"That will be fine. I should see a physician, as long as I'm here. I'll be on the first floor. (Pause, then sounding weakly amused) I haven't changed that much in five years, Uncle Ted. You'll know me when you see me. Just announce yourself to hospital personnel when you get here. (Pause) You're right. Ok, I'll see you soon. Bye." She hung up, thanking the nurse, and accepted a clipboard with some forms and a pen. Turning, she saw Abby, and managed a wan smile.

"How is Tony?"

Abby shrugged. "I heard everything you did, Brynja, but he looks ok. This isn't the first time he's been beat up, you know. It comes with the job. The guys get knocked around a lot," Abby explained. "I don't like it, but it's a fact of life. You're seeing a doctor?" Abby's face clouded. "What for?"

"I need my ear looked at; the one Marc hit. I'm having trouble hearing out of it." Brynja glanced at the forms as she walked to a chair. "Ugh. I hate these things. May as well be in Latin, sometimes, and my head hurts."

"Give me that," Talon said, removing the clipboard from her hands, "I'll handle the legal and insurance details, and you sign." He started looking over the form, jotting information in as needed. "When will your uncle be here?"

"Within an hour. I caught him getting ready for bed, and he has to drive a little." Abby looked at her questioningly, so she explained. "I'm staying with a family member tonight, Abby. Nothing personal, but Marc compromised three departments within a month. I'm dropping off the grid for a day or so, so I can be safe and get some rest. My dad's 'family' is putting me up."

"So, he's not your 'uncle' uncle?" Abby looked puzzled.

"He isn't a blood relative, if that's what you mean, but he's known me since I was five, and I've always called him Uncle Ted. He's a good man; I'll be ok." She shuddered. "Plus, there's your safety to consider. If Marc's conspirators know I'm not with you—and they may—they're more likely to leave you alone. You all need to rest, too."

"Ok, Frost. Sign here, here, and here," Talon motioned with the clipboard and pen. "And don't forget the part about blood type and allergies."

"Thanks, Howard." She quickly tended the form in her hands, dropped it at the nurse's station, and returned.

"I need to hear your report, Frost, while your mind is still fresh," said Lt. Talon. "I know you need rest, but details can be lost in a night's sleep, and we may need them later." He pulled a small tape recorder out of his jacket. "Tell me as much as you can, before you get called into your examination."

"Do you need me to leave," Abby volunteered?

"No," said Talon, "but I need you to let Frost do the talking. You will doubtless be making your own report to Agent Gibbs." Abby nodded, pigtails bobbing, and Talon put the recording device on the table between them. "Frost, start with how you and Miss Sciuto were separated from Agent DiNozzo, and take me to where I kicked in his back door."

So Brynja talked, and talked, and talked. Talon occasionally asked a question to clear up something he didn't understand, but mostly he let her talk. When she came to the banter in the kitchen, Abby inhaled sharply. Brynja looked at her, and nodded. "I thought the same thing."

"What," asked Talon?

"The line our fake 'Tony' gave me when he began trying to seduce me, 'I'm tired, not dead', the real Tony used early this morning. Marc/Grendel would have heard it—he was eavesdropping—and used it again tonight to convince me of his false identity. He was borrowing part of Tony's speech pattern."

Talon paused, thinking. "Didn't the Grendel character call you at your apartment this morning to interrupt your soap opera?"

Brynja nodded. "Yes. We have his instructions on the tape we secured at the scene, but the voice was deliberately distorted. I can't make an id off of it."

"I can," Abby said excitedly, "I do that all the time! I can have a clear version of Normand's voice in less than 15 minutes!"

Brynja brightened, and even Talon looked impressed. "That's great!"

"We digress," Talon insisted. "Frost, you said that Normand, disguised as Tony, tried to seduce you while Abby was in the shower. Did you refuse his advances directly?"

Brynja took a breath. "Yes. I was very clear about my wishes, but the fake Tony would not take 'no' for an answer, or an argument. He continued to press for immediate sexual involvement. That deviation from Agent DiNozzo's character was my biggest red flag."

Talon raised an eyebrow. "I'm familiar with Agent DiNozzo's reputation, Frost, and that might not be considered out of character for him. How did you come to this conclusion, seeing that you have known the man only two days?"

Brynja shook her head. "I've become acquainted with Agent DiNozzo in the past two days, Lieutenant, and I read him a little differently. He's extremely sexually active, but not one to force the issue. He understands and respects the word 'no'. In the vernacular, he may be a hound, but he isn't a mad dog."

Abby snickered. "I'm gonna tell him you said that." Brynja flashed a quick grin, then turned back to her boss.

"Combined with the details he missed in the conversations we had, I was convinced that 'Tony' was not who he appeared to be. The girls had already told us that the Devil wore many faces and had many voices, so I suspected that an imposter had replaced Tony. The final clue was a small bit of missed information: something personal about me that Tony knew, but the imposter didn't."

"And that is," Talon pressed?

"Something I wish to keep private, Lieutenant," Brynja insisted. "It will come out soon enough, but until we are certain we have the entire gang, I want to hold a few things back."

"Brynja Frost," called a nurse, "the doctor will see you now."

"Just as well," Talon said, "we're about done here. I'll need that information sooner or later, Frost, but for now I'll trust your instincts. Sometimes we all need our secrets."

"Thanks, Lieutenant," she said, rising and heading for the exam room.

"Brynja," Abby asked, "do you want me to come with you?"

Brynja hesitated for a moment, and Abby saw her defenses crumble a little. "Yes, Abby, if you would." Abby nodded, rose from her chair, and followed Brynja and the nurse into Exam 2.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

McGee stepped into the hospital entranceway, and spotting Gibbs sitting in the emergency waiting room he broke into a run. Rounding the corner, he found DiNozzo, Talon, and Fornell all chatting with Gibbs about the nights' events.

"BOSS," he exclaimed, starting to panic when he didn't find Abby. "Where's Abby? Is she ok? What about Bry—"

Gibbs stood up and caught McGee by the shoulders. "Calm down, McGee. Abby's fine. Brynja's seeing a doctor, take a breath. Siddown."

"I'm fine, Probie, thanks for askin'," said a loopy Tony, his head lolling on the back of his chair.

"Boss, we got a problem. Or rather, Brynja and Talon have a problem." McGee was starting to trip over his words in his excitement. "I managed to identify the speaker in the tape sent to Director Vance this afternoon."

Talon sat bolt upright. "That's outstanding, Agent McGee. Was it D'Conyours after all, or another agent? I'll need to call my director right away; he'll want to take action."

McGee's face was grave. "You don't want to do that, Howard. Director Smythe is the perp on the tape."

Four heads snapped up to face McGee. Four voices said "WHAT?"

McGee nodded. "I checked it three times. Then-Assistant Director Smythe dispatched Sergeant Auten and his partner, Officer Frost, to investigate a suspicious series of sex killings three years ago in Spain. I managed to hack into his Lyon business account, and discovered that his travel agent had booked Smythe a hotel and a car—same city, same time as the Sergeant's killing. He was _there_. The voice on the tape is an exact match."

"That's my probie…McHacker…" said Tony.

"I don't understand this," Lieutenant Talon was leaning forward, the tips of his fingers together. "Director Smythe has always acted almost fatherly towards Frost. _He_ recruited her fresh out of college-he was the investigating officer working with Scotland Yard in the Edinburg University rape case! _He_ is the one she turned to whenever she had a problem with her partner, which was often. Why would he do this?"

"Change your perspective, Talon, and he hasn't been looking out for her, he's been keeping track of her," Gibbs insisted. "Smythe hand-picked Frost's first three partners: three of the most pig-headed male chauvinists who ever wore a badge. You said yourself that D'Conyours had a bad reputation with female officers. It's probably a miracle she ended up with Auten when she did."

"Auten recognized her potential, and made a special request to have Frost assigned to him," Talon explained. "Smythe couldn't refuse a direct request from someone with Auten's seniority, and Frost welcomed the assignment."

"Kinda like what you do with us, Boss," said loopy Tony.

"Director Smythe and Auten never did see eye to eye," Talon mused. "I got the impression that Auten didn't like him much, but he would never say exactly why. That still doesn't explain why he would have Auten murdered, or be a part of this monster mash."

"Blood's thicker than water, Howard. Remember Normand's alias, Coy Themys?" The group nodded, and McGee continued. "'Themys' is an amalgam for 'Smythe'. Director Smythe is Marcois Normand's maternal grandfather."

"WHAT?" exploded Gibbs. McGee nodded.

"That bastard has been perpetuating this…this…horror…with one purpose in mind. Anytime he's made a move, it's been to drive Frost into another bad situation: like a fox-hunt. He's been manipulating her for payback, because she sent his grandson to prison."

"Frost is quite a fox," Tony observed sleepily. Gibbs slugged him in the arm. "Ow. Whad I say?"

"Tony, take your Article 32's before I upgrade your concussion," growled Gibbs. "Does Director Vance know all this?"

"He does," boomed Vance, walking into the conference, "and he knows something else McGee does not. Director Smythe is no longer in Lyon. I just got off the phone with D'Conyours. He's pigheaded, but not completely dirty. Director Smythe took a personal day right after our tele-conference this afternoon. When D'Conyours tried to reach him later, he discovered the man had skipped town and caught the first plane to America. He's on his way here, either to watch the action or rescue Normand again."

"Or both." The voice was Brynja's. Pale-faced, she had emerged from exam 2 in time to catch the final pieces of the puzzle being placed. "He's been part of this all along?" She looked nauseous.

"He's been the whole thing, Brynja," said McGee, "from the time you stood up against his grandson until now, he's been playing you. Playing Interpol. Playing us."

"This is just like that Arnold Swhrartentruber film…whazzit? Pink thingy on the end of a pencil?" Tony gurgled.

"Tony's on drugs! I gotta get this on film," said Abby, pulling out her phone. She caught a glare from Gibbs and put it back. "Or not."

"Eraser," said Fornell. Gibbs looked at him, surprised, and he shrugged. "Hey, Arnie kicks ass for the FBI. What's not to like?"

"The housework," growled Talon, aghast. "God only knows how far this leads. We could be dealing with an entire division, perhaps squadrons of agents. For all I know my entire office is in on it. Smythe was able to infiltrate the FBI, and managed to execute a graphic insertion of an NCIS agent. This is like killing the Hydra!"

"The what," asked Gibbs?

"Mythological creature killed by Hercules," explained Vance. "A giant snake that grew two heads whenever one was cut off…nice picture there, Talon. We just have to make certain to burn the stumps as we go. Talon, I know this is hard, but who do you have in your department that you can absolutely trust?"

"How do we know we can trust this man at all, Leon?" The sharp question came from Fornell, who now looked at Talon suspiciously. "For all we know, he's on Smythe's team!"

"No." Brynja was eyeing her Lieutenant coolly. "I don't believe it." Seven pairs of eyes flicked up to her; Gibbs' narrowed cautiously.

"Frost," he began, "your boss, Smythe, he…"

"Didn't train Lt. Talon," Brynja insisted. "Sergeant Auten did. We're both Bulldog pups, as the saying goes. You want to know whom we can trust? Start with the **Pack**, Howard. Wherever they are; pull them in."

"Works for me," said Gibbs. "We need to move. Smythe has several more hours of flight time. We need to figure out where he's landing so we can nail him when he lands, and we need to…"

"Rest. Don't take this personally, but y'all look like a nice collection of roadkill," a stranger drawled. Gibbs turned to face a tall, late-middle-aged Caucasian man, wearing loose blue jeans and a freshly-starched polo shirt, which stretched easily over his considerable girth. What hair remained rimmed his head; he was bald otherwise. His eyes searched the group until he found Officer Frost, and his face twisted in worry. "Brynja? Baby, what happened to you?"

She walked over and embraced the tall stranger. "Hi, Uncle Ted. Long story." He returned the embrace, then put a protective arm around her shoulders.

"Theodore," said an interested Fornell, "this is interesting."

The man finally noticed him, and nodded. "Hello, Tobias. I'm just here to pick up Brynja. She called saying she needed a safe place to sleep for the night." His eyes narrowed as they swept the group. "This looks like a war conference. Gentlemen, you know you shouldn't be having this conversation here. This is a hospital."

"Getting ready to leave now, Theodore," said Fornell evenly. "We need to tend our wounded and hit the field fresh tomorrow. We have a situation."

Ted nodded. "I caught that. You have an 'Eraser' situation with Interpol, and the FBI is involved, and…who are you people?"

McGee looked up. "NCIS."

Ted frowned. "Never heard of it."

Gibbs sighed. "We get that a lot."

"Who are you again," Tony asked groggily?

"Well, if this is "Eraser", I think that makes me the Longshoreman," Ted mused. "Y'all aren't safe at your usual houses, and you need to rest. Bring the war conference to my place," he offered suddenly. "You can rest there. I've got good security," he smiled, "ask Tobias."

Fornell grumbled incomprehensibly.

"I can't come with you," said Talon. "I have a wife and kids to look after. Smythe know that. I have to make sure they're safe."

Ted stiffened. "Bring them. I'll send a car; you can pick them up yourself. Have them pack an overnight bag. Tobias," Fornell looked up, "get Emily and Diane. Anybody else have family to look after?" He scanned the group, and Vance nodded.

"I have a wife and two kids," the Director said.

"I have a big house," Ted answered, "and plenty of…security. They'll be safe enough."

"Theodore, why are you doing this," Fornell asked?

Ted's grip on Brynja's shoulder tightened. "This gal," he looked at her quickly, then back at Fornell, "she's family. Smythe and his spawn messed with the wrong girl. You need to take him down? Count me in."

"Thanks, Uncle Ted," Brynja said, giving him a squeeze. "Can we get out of here? I've got to get some sleep."

"My car's downstairs, baby. We can leave as soon as everybody's ready."

"Oh, wow, is it a slumber party? Will there be a movie? I'm up; I'm good," said Tony groggily, starting to stand. Gibbs shoved him back into the wheelchair.

"Siddown, DiNozzo."

Captain Hunt walked into the officer's mess with security in tow. "ATTENTION ON DECK," roared a subordinate, and sailors snapped to attention all around him.

"Petty Officer Coy Themys, Quartermaster, left this ship without orders, and has been arrested in the commission of a felony," Captain Hunt announced. "I want his bunkmate or mates to step forward immediately."

One sailor stepped forward. "Captain, sir! I am Petty Officer Themys' bunkmate, _sir_. Petty Officer Second Class Robert Main, _sir_."

"Are you close to your bunk-mate, Petty Officer Main," the young captain asked?

"Not really, sir. He kept to himself, sir, and we often worked different shifts."

"Were you aware your bunk-mate had broken the ship's quarantine, Petty Officer Main?"

The man squirmed.

"Petty Officer Main, you will answer the question."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir, what?"

"Yes, sir, I was aware that Senior Petty Officer Themys had left the ship, sir."

"And you did nothing to alert your officers, knowing that we were under quarantine, and why?"

He squirmed again. "Yes, sir."

The young captain stepped close to the now-sweating junior officer. _"Why?"_ he asked in a strong whisper.

"Senior Petty Officer Themys confided in me that he wished to visit his wife, who is expecting their first child, sir. He asked me to cover for him, as a friend, sir," he answered in a shaking voice.

Captain Hunt nodded. "I see. Did he ever show you a picture of this wife of his, or discuss her at all?"

"Yes, Captain. He carried a picture of her in his wallet. She's blond, about 5'2, and really hot. Sir, is she…" the young officer's voice faltered.

"That remains to be seen, Petty Officer Main. ALL OF YOU," Captain Hunt raised his voice to address the officers present, "Senior Petty Officer Coy Themys is _not_ married. He is an escaped convict masquerading as a sailor, and responsible for the carnage visited on this ship. He left this ship under false pretenses, in order to commit at least one more rape and murder. That crime has fortunately been thwarted." He turned to Junior Petty Officer Main. "But not thanks to you. If the women attacked today had died, you would have been an accomplice to murder, Petty Officer." The man paled even more, and began to look nauseous. Captain Hunt turned towards the MP's accompanying him. "Gentlemen, take Junior Petty Officer Main into custody. Lock him in the brig, and then bag and tag everything in the room he shares with Senior Petty Officer Themys."

"Yes, Captain," the MP's said, stepping forward to escort the pale officer out of the room.

"As for the rest of you," Captain Hunt turned towards the rest of the assembled officers. "If any of you has any helpful information about Senior Petty Officer Themys, his habits, his contacts, his friends, _anything_, I need to know it ASAP. And spread the word. If there are any more monsters like him on board, we need to flush them NOW." He turned to leave the officers' mess, then reconsidered. "In case there is any question about anybody leaving this ship, and I mean ANYBODY, let me assure you. Nobody leaves. Is that clear? THIS SHIP IS ON LOCKDOWN!" he roared.

"Yes, Captain," came a chorus of voices.

Captain Hunt glared at the assembled men, turned, and left.

"Wow," said one petty officer to another, "he sure learns fast."

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Clouds raced across the moon as several cars pulled through Ted's iron gates. Armed sentries nodded and waved, long barrels of sniper rifles could be seen, and two guards with huge German Shepherd dogs walked opposite beats. The grounds were well lit. McGee craned his neck to look out the window; Gibbs did the same, but less conspicuously. Tony's head lolled comfortably back on his headrest, and he all but snored.

"Interesting family Brynja has," McGee finally said. "Any idea who 'Uncle Ted' really is, Boss?"

"Nope, and now is not the time to ask, McGee. Talk to Fornell later; this qualifies as a "don't ask, don't tell" situation." Gibbs was silent for a while, looking at Tony with some concern.

"Do you think we can trust him?" McGee could not keep his worries to himself. "I mean, if he's some kind of international crime boss, aren't we going from the frying pan into the fire?"

"Sometimes allies can be found in the oddest places, McGee: remember that. Even if Brynja's family is "Family", that doesn't mean he condones the rape and murder of children. Perhaps more to the opposite."

"I only assume that because of Fornell. He acted like Ted was somebody he was investigating," McGee conceded.

"We've been investigated by the FBI before, McGee. That didn't make us guilty; it certainly doesn't mean anything here." Gibbs peered out the window at the approaching house. "Hmmm. No national flags showing, so this isn't an embassy."

"Boss, how are we gonna move Tony?"

Ducky, sitting beside McGee, finally spoke up. "It's quite simple, Timothy. We ask some of the Playmates to come out and escort him inside." The old man smirked, as did Gibbs.

Tony snorted a little. "Zzzn't the Playboy mansion, Ducky. At's in Californica," he murmured.

McGee shook his head. "Amazing. Even with a concussion."

Once inside, Ted began calling out directions to various staff members, and the guests were escorted to their rooms. The house, itself a small mansion, was vast enough to offer separate wings to the women and the men, so a few uncomfortable moments between Gibbs and Diane were quickly settled. Fornell hugged and kissed Emily goodbye, and had a quiet word with his ex-wife; she nodded stiffly, then led Emily to their room. Dragging her teddy bear, the child turned one last time to wave goodbye to her daddy, then skipped along beside her mother. Fornell turned to Ted.

"She's a sweet kid, Tobias," the portly man said, "and I think she has your eyes."

"And her mother's looks. I can't thank you enough for this, Theodore," Fornell said, "but we both know I can't stay. It would really…complicate things."

Ted nodded. "You're right, it would." He stared after the skipping child, then looked hard at the FBI agent. "What you did for Brynja means a lot to me. When this is over, and all the pieces of our lives are back in place…"

"Business as usual," Fornell nodded. "I understand." He stuck out his hand. "Have a quiet night, Theodore."

Ted shook his hand. "You, too, Tobias."

Gibbs and Ducky escorted a wobbly Tony up the stairs and to the room they had been assigned, and between the two of them managed to put him to bed. The tall agent fell asleep almost immediately, so Gibbs and Ducky withdrew to the hallway.

"I think he'll sleep through the night and probably tomorrow, Jethro, between the concussion and the pain relievers in his system. I'll stay with him tonight, in case any complications arise. It can't be worse than anything I went through with Mother before she passed," the old medic said.

"Thanks, Duck. McGee, Talon and I will be up for awhile, I think. Try to get some rest, will you?"

The old man sighed. "The pot advising the cauldron? You should get some shut-eye yourself, Jethro. Guaranteed this enemy director will be resting on his way in; don't think he won't try to use that to his advantage."

"I know, Duck. This meeting is going to be short."

Abby and Brynja started down the hallway towards their shared wing, Brynja finally carrying the bag of clothing Fornell had reclaimed from her old apartment.

"This is a nice place," Abby said admiringly. "I don't know why you kept that efficiency, when you had _this_ available."

"I like my independence," Brynja explained, "plus, not staying with Uncle Ted has kept him off of my boss' radar for years now: different reasons, of course, but I'm really glad, just the same. He's going to call my _pabbi_, that's a guarantee, and _he'll_ have a hemorrhage, but I'll deal with that later."

"What's a 'pabbi'?" Abby looked confused.

"Oh, sorry. I slip into Icelandic sometimes when I'm tired. 'Pabbi' is an affectionate term for my father." Brynja turned to a closed door, paused a moment, then opened it and stepped inside. "Yes, this is it. I was afraid I had forgotten my way around. Anyway, I think the English equivalent is 'daddy'." She turned towards Abby again. "It doesn't matter how old I get, or what I do for a living; he still thinks of me as a little girl." She grinned a little sheepishly, then set her bag on the floor next to a king-sized bed.

"My dad is the same way," said Abby. "The only reason he doesn't worry about me working for the Navy is because of G-" Abby awkwardly cut herself off, suddenly remembering how Brynja felt about Gibbs.

"It's ok, Abby. I'm not offended. Gibbs isn't that unlike my last partner, not with his team. Liam had his moments as well. I just hope he isn't this much of a jerk all the time!"

"No comment." Abby paused, then sniffed the air. "Do you smell flowers? I think I do, but there aren't any in the room. Air freshener, d'you think?"

Brynja's eyes widened. "That's no air freshener, _vinur_. That," she crossed to the door on the other side of the room and yanked it open, "is what I need….right now." She looked for a moment at the boiling mass of pink foam in the jacuzzi. A bottle of wine chilled in a bucket of ice beside it. "I _love_ my uncle!"

"Me, too," breathed Abby.

Ten minutes later both women were submerged to their necks in hot foam.

"Now _this_," said Brynja, sipping the sweet wine, "is a vacation!"

Lt. Talon and Director Vance showed up with their families just as Fornell was pulling away. Ted's household staff whisked them off to their rooms, and the men (after their goodnights) joined Gibbs, McGee, and Ted in a parlor. Talon cleared his throat.

"Gentlemen, we have a situation, and I need to call in some backup. Does anybody here have a computer with Internet capability," he asked?

"I do," said Ted. He left the room, and came back with a notebook computer. "My house has it's own Wi-Fi connection," he explained. "Just don't download a bunch of crap."

"Don't worry, I won't." Talon started tapping keys, and the pictures on the monitor changed rapidly. McGee moved to stand behind him, curious.

"Hey, that's a Myspace application! How secure is that?" McGee looked alarmed. "Anybody spying on you can see exactly what you're doing!"

Talon smiled. "Yes, Tim, they can. But only the people who are receiving the message I'm sending know it's there." He toggled the mouse a few times. "Plus, I'm doing several different things that are NOT message related. A decryptionist would be hard-pressed to find and interpret the code, assuming _he_ knew it was there." He stopped for a moment to scribble something on a spare piece of paper, then returned to the game. Typing in some figures, he finished the application and closed it. "I should hear from them all in about 12 hours."

"Exactly who are 'they', Talon? Is this the 'Pack' Frost mentioned in the hospital? How do they fit in?" Director Vance accepted a cup of coffee from Ted, but kept his eyes glued on the Interpol officer.

Talon took a cup as well, and sat at the table with the other agents. He looked distant for a moment, then glanced around at the other men. "We need people on this project we can trust, and the Pack is it for my department. You know that Sergeant Liam Auten was Officer Brynja Frost's last partner, correct?"

Director Vance nodded, but Gibbs looked blank. McGee, however, looked surprised.

"The Scottish Bulldog," he asked?

"Someone you know, McGee?" Gibbs turned toward him, curious. McGee glanced at his boss.

"He published some articles a few years ago about the importance of cross-training in forensic science and computer technologies." McGee shrugged. "They were good."

"That sounds like him; the Bulldog was into multitasking," Talon nodded. "At any rate, before his death in Spain three years ago, Sergeant Auten served 25 years with Interpol. His rank would have been higher, obviously, if he hadn't had a 'thing' for…physical insubordination."

"Punching Superior Officers?" Gibbs guessed.

"Correct," Talon confirmed. "He and our current director did not get along well, but he was a damn good cop, so he kept his job. In the 25 years he was on the force, he managed to train a dozen or more agents, including Frost and myself. He was _very_ selective about whom he trained. Anybody trained by Auten was called a 'Bulldog pup'; collectively, we're the Pack."

"And you can trust these people?" Vance phrased the question casually, but everyone at the table could feel the _points_ behind the manners.

"Absolutely," said Talon, nodding. "We'll have at least 6 agents here in 24 hours time. Those who can't get here will check in from around the globe, and act from wherever they are. If we're going to set our house in order, we'll need them."

"That's some good news, at least," said Vance. "Problem is, your director will land somewhere here in the Americas before then. It's only a 14-hour flight from Lyon to DC, assuming no layovers. McGee?"

McGee had pulled out a laptop, and was already tapping keys. "Tracking him now, Director. He has stopovers in both London and New York, assuming he stays on the same flight. We can assume he doesn't know we're tracking him, so there's no reason to suspect he would bolt before boarding the shuttle to DC. We can arrest him as soon as he gets off the plane."

"On what grounds, McGee?" The question came from Gibbs, and every head turned to face him. Vance inhaled sharply.

"Damn good point there, Gibbs," he said, scowling. "We do have a problem."

"What's the problem?" Ted asked sharply. "Isn't he guilty of murder?"

"Not in America, he isn't," Vance reminded him. "Sergeant Auten was killed in Spain, and not on American Naval property. NCIS has no jurisdiction over him. Neither does the FBI, so Tobias can't help. Howard?"

"My department might be able to take him into custody, but we'll need more than a computer-matched voice on a tape to secure a warrant," he cautioned. "I need more leverage."

"We have his grandson," Gibbs volunteered. "That has to count for something."

"Smythe doesn't know that," Vance pointed out.

"He doesn't have to, Director," McGee said. "Let's assume Director Smythe shows up at his American branch first thing tomorrow morning. When he sits down with Howard, all Howard has to say is that we apprehended one Master Petty Officer 'Coy Themys' in the midst of an attempted rape. Themys is, we suspect, the mastermind behind a series of international gang rapes and murders: the same case Frost was investigating. We'll interrogate the other Navy personnel we already have in custody, and see if any of them will roll over on him. We can invite you both to watch Gibbs interrogate Themys at NCIS headquarters."

"That's great, Tim, but Frost identified him as one Marcois Normand at the time of the bust. We know that Normand is an escaped convict from England, not an American Naval officer," Howard pointed out.

"Even better," said Vance as he pulled out his phone. "I'm calling Scotland Yard. They'll want a piece of Normand as well. He's still in the secure ward at Betheszda with his concussion, so I'll just have to wait a day or two to interrogate him. That works." He punched his speed dial, and backed away from the table. In a minute he was talking to someone with an English accent. "Chief Inspector? This is Director Leon Vance, with the American Naval Criminal Investigative Service..."

"'Bring me a sword. Cut the child in two, and give a piece to each woman,'" quoted Ted. "Hell, it worked for King Solomon. Why not?"

"You catch on fast, Ted," Gibbs nodded. He looked around, suddenly. "Where are Abby and Frost? They should have been there for this."

Ted shrugged. "Probably turning into prunes, by now. I spiked the jacuzzi with a special aromatherapy cocktail. We won't see them until morning."

"Jacuzzi?" croaked a very stiff Gibbs.

Ted snorted. "I take _care_ of my girl!" 

Howard's cell phone chimed; he looked at the caller id and smiled. "SassyBitch182. I knew I could count on her!" He opened his phone. "G'day, Sassy! Where are you?" McGee gave him a questioning look, and he covered his speaker for a moment. "She's from Australia."

"Ah," McGee said, returning to his computer file.

_Washington, DC_

Alice Halley sighed, brushing the water out of her hair as she stepped out of the shower. Her bathrobe wrapped around her, she walked over to her desktop computer and booted it up. _What a night, _she thought, _I hope Howard and Brynja will be ok. I'll see Howard in the morning, for sure. I wonder what was going on? Switchboard, bah humbug._

She scrolled through her email. _Let me see: a letter from Mom, Spam, more training news, more Spam, Publisher's Clearing House: as if I had a chance, Amy with more pictures of the kids…_when she finished, she switched to her Myspace account. _And now to relax: Were Wars! Ooooh, somebody put out a contract on me…__**HOWARD?**_

_Lyon, France_

A middle-aged businessman stops at a café for a croissant and a large coffee, and sits down to eat his breakfast. Pulling out his I-phone, he flips quickly through his Myspace _Were Wars_ account. His eyes widen, and he snaps his phone shut. Gulping his coffee, he grabs his croissant and leaves.

_Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada _

A black woman in a sexy silver dress leaves a table in a loud nightclub. "I'll just be a minute, guys!" she shouts over the band, and heads to the bathroom.

"So, do we have a deal, or not?" her date asks the stern-looking man in a suit on the other side of the table. "My girlfriend and I can always find another buyer, if you aren't interested."

"I have to be careful," the old man snapped in a thick Russian accent. "I haven't eluded the Mounties this long by being reckless. For all I know, you and your hot _piece_ are just more cops. Business is business. Your sample was great, but how do I know it didn't come from the local police warehouse?"

"Look, I understand your situation. I have to be careful, too. Do you think I cook this stuff in my own kitchen? I have connections. I represent no less than five chemists in this area alone. Even Billie doesn't know where they all are. Only I do. One word from _you_, though, and I push a few speed dial buttons, and we make millions. I'm production and supply. You move the product. Simple."

"And your girlfriend?"

"This is business. Billie is pleasure, sort of."

"Sort of?" The old man snorted, and reached for his drink. "Where is she, by the way? Frank," the old man spoke to an attendant, "go see if 'Billie' got lost on the way back from the bathroom."

"Yes, sir." A burly guard with cold eyes left the table.

"Her pants are on too tight. She says she wants to _wait_ until the _moment_ is right. Now _I'm_ thinking that if _this_ deal goes down, the moment will be _just right_. Help me out here, will you?" The young man looked around him at all the gyrating flesh. "The suspense is _killing_ me!"

"Boy, you have a problem," the old man sipped his bourbon again, and set it down on the table. "You really need to learn some self-restraint. Find a nice girl, and settle down. It worked for me."

'Frank' reappeared, hauling 'Billie' by an elbow. "I found her messing with this, boss," the tough said, handing the old man an I-phone.

"You're _hurting_ me," she whimpered, tugging against the larger man. "It's just a video game! I swear! Mac," she pleaded to her date, "make him let me _go_!"

The dealer started to swell with indignation. "Billie, if you just ruined the biggest deal of my _life_ for a video game, I'll do more than let you go! I swear I'll…"

"Release her, Frank," the old man said suddenly. "It's ok."

The guard released Billie's arm, and she slammed into a seat next to her boyfriend. "Mac, how could you…"

"Shut up, Billie. This is more important than some stupid Myspace application," the young man snapped. He turned his attention back to the old man. "If you'd rather, I can have her taken care of, and we can do business in the parking lot. I brought the first shipment, just in case you brought the money."

The old man smiled warmly. "Nyet, your lady can stay: she's cute. Don't slam her game; I play it too. We can do business." He gulped the rest of his bourbon. "Parking lot, you said?"

Fifteen minutes later, 'Mac' was in handcuffs, his cell phone was in a plastic bag, and his car-packed with 100 lbs. of methamphetamines-was being towed into a police lab.

"Nice work, you two," the old man said, pulling out some false teeth, "this guy has had the Mounties running in circles for years now. Now all that's left is the paperwork."

"I _love_ the dress, by the way," said Frank enthusiastically.

"Thanks, Frank, you look nice, too. Paperwork on the plane, Boss?" She turned to her superior, who was pulling out his own I-phone. "I can be ready to leave in half an hour."

His face was grave. "I'd rather you and Frank stayed behind to sew this up, Billie. This is Pack business; you could lose your jobs."

Frank's face grew serious. "If it's a Pack thing, then we're in, Ivan. We're partners, remember? You aren't shaking us that easily."

"Yeah," said Billie, "You trained us, so we're Bulldog pups, too. We never let go."

The old man sighed. "Get in the car, you mongrels."

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

Tony opened his eyes slowly. His head was pounding, but the bed felt comfortable. He _really_ needed to shower. _Where am I_, he wondered, _and why am I so sore?_

Memory rushed in. _Abby…Brynja…somebody wearing my face_… "Abby!" Tony started to thrash out of his sheets. "Brynja!" The unfamiliar covers restrained him, and he started to panic. Where was he?

Hands grabbed him: familiar wrinkled hands. Tony looked up into Ducky's face, and his panic ebbed. "Ducky? Where?"

"Relax, Tony. Abby and Brynja are fine; they're quite safe. You needed to rest, so Gibbs told me to let you sleep. Brynja's here, too. Everyone else has gone to work. How do you feel?"

Tony's breathing evened out, and he leaned back against his pillows. "Like that time Ziva and I pretended we were assassins for hire, only not as bad. He didn't hit me as many times, but I'm pretty sure he used a Taser." He reached for his head, feeling the lump that had formed, then probed the sore spots on his ribs. "The girls…did he…"

Ducky patted the back of his hand. "The ladies put up quite a fight. You should be most proud of our Abigail. _She_ took the bastard out with your frying pan; wailed him over the head with it. If it had been cast iron, I think she would have killed him."

"Not that I would have minded. That's our old-fashioned girl, Abbs." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I guess my place is a mess, huh?"

"From all accounts, yes. Can you eat something, Tony? You'll heal faster if we can get you up and moving, but you're not to show up at the office today." Tony started to open his mouth in protest, but Ducky held up a finger, as if to chide a child. "Absolutely _not_, so don't even think about it. You and Brynja both need to rest and recuperate. You two are staying _here_. I'll fill you in during breakfast, so if you can get yourself up and dressed, I'll guide you to the kitchen."

Ducky and Tony found Brynja chatting with two women neither of them knew, as well as Diane Fornell, Tobias' and Gibbs' ex-wife. One room away, five children shrieked in delight over a Twister game as their mothers watched. Brynja looked up as the men walked in, Ducky guiding Tony (still a little wobbly) by the elbow, and rose. Grabbing a chair, she helped Tony find a seat.

"Can you eat something?" she asked, peering into his face with a worried look.

Tony checked his pulse. "Yeah, I think so," he started with his usual bravado, but it failed him when he saw the fresh bruise on Brynja's cheek. Guilt rose in him like bile and he reached for Brynja's face. "God, Brynja, I'm so.."

She laid a finger on his lips. "Don't start. I gave as good as I got; better even, because Abby was there. Marc got double-teamed. I _told_ you we were supposed to stick together," she chided. "Maybe next time you'll listen to me. Now _stay_. I'll have the cook fix you some breakfast."

Tony's eyes widened. "Yes, ma'am."

"That's a good start, Agent DiNozzo. Remember those words; they're important," joked a hefty black woman from the other end of the table. Looking at her, Tony suddenly realized who she was.

"Thanks, Mrs. Vance, I will, and good morning." He scrutinized the rest of the group. "I know Mrs. Fornell (she nodded), but we haven't met." His last remarks were to a tall woman of medium build, with a deep tan and long black hair. She looked at least half Native American, he thought, by her features. This woman rose, walked over, and extended her hand.

"I'm Miriam Talon, Howard's wife, and the two little girls in braids are our daughters, Rose and Lake. You can call me Mim, if you like; everyone else does."

He shook her hand. "Anthony DiNozzo: call me Tony. This is Dr. Mallard."

"Good morning, ladies," the old doctor said, "feel free to call me Ducky. Everyone does."

"Can anybody tell me where we are," Tony asked? "I was kinda out of it last night."

"We're in my 'Uncle' Ted's house, outside of DC," Brynja announced, walking in with a large platter of scrambled eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns, and a large glass of orange juice. "I told the cook you were big and Italian, and she said there's more where that came from, so eat up."

Tony stuffed a large serving of bacon and eggs into his mouth, and closed his eyes, relishing it. "Yeth mmm," he said mushily.

"Tony, you mind your cholesterol," nagged Ducky.

Tony took a swig of OJ. "Cholesterol is needed for cellular repair and maintenance," he said primly, "and I'm currently under repair. Bring it on."

Ducky snorted.

Tony forked down more eggs with hashbrowns, and chased them down with more orange juice. "So, why are we here?" He finally asked. "And what happened last night? Everything is kind of a blur."

"Eat first, Tony. We'll talk shop when you're done," Brynja said gently. He looked at her face—serious but not angry—and nodded.

He finished the rest of his meal with pleasant chit-chat about the kids. When he was finished, a short, plump woman, with gray hair swept up into a bun and wearing a large apron, came out to collect his plate. He glanced up at her, and decided her nose looked remarkably like his grandmother's.

"_Ringrazia milione_," he said, "_Ciò è favolosa_!"

The woman beamed, and pinched his cheek. "_Ché ragazzo piacevole siete,"_ she said, then gathered his plate and swept out of the room.

Brynja's eyes widened. "You speak Italian, too?"

Tony held his fingers three inches apart. "About this much. Nonna—my grandmother—was from the old country, so I picked up a lot from her. I can muddle through pleasantries, and I can read some of it, but I'm not fluent. Nonna taught me to always respect a good cook, among other things."

"Always a good idea," Brynja nodded. "If you're ready, I've already typed up my report. It might be easier to read it, than to have me tell you what happened last night."

"That'll work," Tony nodded. He frowned. "You sure type fast. What time is it, anyway?"

"It's about 10am. I've been up since six-thirty, though. The house was quiet, and I needed something to do," she explained. "Come on. The office is this way."

Tony followed her.

Lt. Talon sat at his desk in his DC office, typing furiously. He wanted to get his report done before his Captain showed up, and _definitely_ before his Director showed up. _If he does_, he thought, worrying. _What if…_

His intercom beeped before he could finish the thought. He punched a button. "Yes, Corporal Halley?"

"Lieutenant, the Captain is in, and wants to see you ASAP," she said.

"Understood, Corporal. Thank you." He put the finishing touches on his report, printed it out, and took it with him to his Captain's office. Stopping at the door, he knocked.

"Come in," said a gruff New York accent, "and sit down, Lieutenant."

Talon set his report down on his superior's desk, and took the chair opposite his commanding officer. The Captain looked briefly at the report in front of him for a few moments, then set it down.

"Howard, we need to talk. More specifically, _you_ need to talk. I need to know exactly where Officer Frost is right now. It seems we have a problem."

Abby scanned the inside of the 'Tony' mask, removing some samples of skin, hair, and blood. She set each sample aside for analysis, then turned her attention to the mask itself. She cut off a piece of unpainted latex, and set it in a petri dish. Turning the mask over in her gloved hands, she scanned the face, and took several scrapings of paint from different sections. Setting each aside, she labeled them, and went back to her visual inspection. She was about to set it aside, when her sensitive fingers felt some odd ridges near one edge. Quickly flipping it over, she found it: a partially torn imprinted label. She smiled grimly.

"You dumb bastard! I've got you now," she breathed.

She turned to her computer.

Captain Hunt looked at the assortment of items collected from 'Senior Petty Officer Coy Themys' room, as well as the printed confession of his bunkmate, and scowled. He itched to leave the ship, but decided that the morale of his men would suffer if he did so unnecessarily. He picked up the phone instead.

"Director Vance? This is Captain Hunt. I have some things here you will want to see." He paused for a moment, listening. "That would be fine. I think I should stay with my men, though. Their morale is getting low, and it would be unseemly for me to leave the ship when they cannot. Are we sure that Themys was behind it all?" He paused. "Understood. Any news now is good news, I think. Is Brynja—Officer Frost—is she…" He paused again. "Thank God for that. All right, Director. I'll be waiting."

He hung up.

Director Vance hung up the phone, pleased. The young Captain was handling his job nicely, but was obviously a little stuck on Officer Brynja Frost. He smiled. No harm there, he thought, it would be nice to have one good thing come out of all this mess. His phone 'beeped' again.

"Yes, Cynthia?"

"Director, Scotland Yard is on Line 2."

"Thank you, Cynthia."

Captain Sasparilla Brown, 'Sassy' to her friends, settled into her desk in Sydney and booted up her computer. _This one's for you, Bulldog_, she thought, scrolling through her list of firewall options. _Let's see the Director stop me now._

A few clicks later, she had wormed her way into Director Smythe's computer files. _G'day, Director_, she thought, _suck a cackleberry!_

Setting her worm to 'COPY ALL', she minimized the screen. It knew its job, and did not need her to give further directions.

_Mess with the Pack, will you_, she thought, _let's see you wiggle out of this one, you old dag._

Someone knocked on her office door.

"Come in," she said crisply.

Director Syngion Smythe, Interpol, stepped out of the airplane terminal and looked around him. New York looked lovely in the early morning light, but he was more interested in the agents running to greet him.

"_Bonjour_, gentlemen," he said smoothly.

"Welcome to the United States, Director," said one agent. "Can I take your bag? We have your car waiting just outside."

"That will do, young man," the Director said. "I need to stop at my hotel first, and then we can proceed to our headquarters in DC."

"Understood, sir."

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

Lieutenant Howard Talon looked his Captain squarely in the eye. "I can't tell you that, sir," he said firmly.

"Can't, Howard, or won't? The difference is critical," his boss said sternly. "The Director is on my ass about this wild goose-chase of hers. He's convinced she's needlessly endangering both her life and the lives of others for some sort of payback mission, trying to close the Bulldog's last case. I had the utmost of respect for Sergeant Auten, but he was a loose cannon, and he may have passed that on to Frost. She's jumping to conclusions about leads that don't really exist. This pedophile case of hers is becoming a company embarrassment. We have to rein her in."

Talon took a breath. "Sir, in response I will say: both. I neither _can_ say where Officer Frost is, nor _would_ I, given the information. She is in protective custody, and I do not know the exact address of the house. Furthermore, sir, I'm convinced there is a mole in our department that is a direct threat against her life. Without knowing exactly **who** that is I cannot, in good conscience, tell you Officer Frost's location."

The Captain's face darkened. "That is a serious charge, Lieutenant. Can you back that up?"

Talon nodded. "Yes, sir, I can."

The Captain's eyes narrowed. "You took over this pedophile case yesterday, Lieutenant. Do you believe there is any credibility to Frost's allegations about our Navy's involvement?"

"You should have read my report more thoroughly, Captain," Talon said coldly. "You would have seen that I pulled the bastard off of Frost last night! He's in NCIS custody now."

McGee jogged into Abby's lab. "Gibbs got your call, Abby, but he's in interrogation so he sent me down instead. What is it?"

Abby jumped, excited. "I found a label on the inside of the mask Normand was wearing last night. He may have made his own masks to torture the girls with, but this one was a special order, done by a local company."

"What? No way!" McGee gaped at the computer.

"Way! I'm having trouble tracking the order down, though. Guaranteed it was placed recently, because the ship has only been here for about a month. If Normand paid for the mask, that's more proof tying him to the crime. If anybody _else_ did…"

"Like Director Smythe, perhaps, then we have a direct link to the crime for last night, and evidence that will support a warrant. Abby, you're a genius!" McGee kissed her briefly on the cheek. "Forget computer records; this company isn't that far away. I'll go down there myself and talk to customer service."

It was Abby's turn to gape. "Alone? You know you can't go there without backup! Tony's still on medical leave and Ziva…" she swallowed. "What if something happens?"

"Abby, you worry too much. I'm a fully qualified federal agent that carries a gun." He kissed her on the cheek again. "I'll be back. How dangerous can a bunch of artists be?"

"Oh, I'm not worried about the artists," Abby confessed. "I was just thinking about what Gibbs would do to you if you broke protocol…"

McGee grimaced. "Then again, I can always take McAlister."

Abby smiled.

Tony watched Brynja from the sitting-room doorway as she plaited an intricate herringbone into the child's hair. Rose? Lake? He didn't know which child it was, but she sat remarkably still for the process. When Brynja finished, the child wriggled up from between her feet, kissed her delightedly on the face, and skipped off to play again.

"You're good with kids," he said quietly, leaning up against the doorjamb as he carefully studied Brynja's small form.

"Thank you." She glanced up at him. "You didn't come in here to make small talk."

"No."

"Is something bothering you?"

"Yeah." The lanky agent walked into the room and pulled up another easy chair. "I was wondering: at what point did you know it wasn't me? I can read the obvious, even if your Lieutenant can't," he explained. "Fake Tony didn't know you're already on birth control, among other things. But I think you suspected something was up long before that, and that doesn't appear in your report."

"Intuition isn't allowed in Interpol report files," she explained, "only things that can be scientifically verified."

"Ah," he looked down at the floor for a moment, then back up at her face. "So when?"

"He touched me." Brynja's face had gone blank, remembering as she stared at the floor. "I was facing the sink. I had made that joke about you needing a wife, and he turned around and put his hands on my arms and shoulders, then around my waist. I knew then, here," she tapped her heart, "that something was wrong. It wasn't you."

"Brynja," he cautioned, smiling a little uneasily, "I think you've gotten the wrong idea about me…"

"I know you're promiscuous, Tony." He gaped at the term, and she laughed a little. "I'm not ignorant, you big ape, just inexperienced. That's not what I'm talking about. You…" she hesitated, "your _energy_ is different. Do you remember when we did that little performance yesterday morning?"

His face opened up, and he nodded. "Ohhh, yeah!"

"You touched me then, remember? It's like an aura. You did the motions right, in case there was another camera, but I could tell: you didn't _mean_ it. Marc, when he put his hands on me," she shivered for a second, "he meant it. I got chills. Between that and his eyes, I just knew something was wrong."

"You didn't mention his eyes, either, other than he was wearing colored contacts as part of his disguise," Tony pointed out.

"It wasn't the color, it's how he used them. You both look at me differently. To Marc, I was something he was sizing up to beat down. To you,"

Tony glanced over her figure, "I'm not complaining!"

She smiled a little. "No, you wouldn't. But it's also not the body you want to see."

"Excuse me?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Tony," Brynja chided, "you've been comparing me to another woman for three days now! Did you think I wouldn't _notice_? I'm not saying you don't like what you _see_, I'm just not the one that you _want_. That's what I meant, when I said you didn't _mean_ what you were doing. You _can't_. You're in love with another woman!"

Tony blinked. "I'm what?"

Gibbs calmly sipped his coffee and spread the contents of the file folder out for the ensign sitting across from him. The man started to sweat. _Good,_ Gibbs thought, _let him sweat._

"We found your DNA _inside_ of this child," Gibbs tapped one photograph, "and it matched another sample taken from this woman," he tapped another, "last year. You've been a busy man. Do you know what the penalty is for rape and murder, Ensign?"

The Ensign squirmed. "I didn't kill anybody, Agent Gibbs. And I want my lawyer."

"You're lawyer's on his way," Gibbs admitted. "Interesting that you don't deny the rape, though."

"I didn't rape anybody, either. This chick," he touched the photograph of the dead woman's face, "she was a whore. She hid onboard with her boyfriend, and did tricks in exchange for creature comforts. I did her, yeah, but so did a lot of the crew. It was consensual."

"This boyfriend have a name?" Gibbs asked, sitting back in his chair.

"Not that she mentioned." The Ensign glanced nervously at the picture of the dead child in front of him.

"The baby in the picture have the same boyfriend?" Gibbs' voice had gone cold.

"That's not a baby, she's 16, and…" the man gulped.

"Try _**12**_, dumbass! Her 13th birthday would have been last week, but she missed the party." Gibbs leaned in. "She was too busy being _raped_ and _strangled_ by a bunch of adult squid. _**AND YOU WERE IN ON IT**_," Gibbs roared, slamming his hand down on the photograph.

The Ensign shook. "I…I didn't know…" Sweat trickled down his forehead, and he wiped it away. "She was just supposed to be…"

"Let's see if you know any more of these," Gibbs growled. He pulled out the prints from Frost's data files, picture after picture after picture. The ensign started to shake. "It's different, isn't it, when it isn't a little girl who can't stop you, boy?" Gibbs stood up, and walked around the table. Leaning over the Ensign's shoulder, he started spreading out the piles of photographs. "You just thought you were having a good time, huh? They all ended up dead."

The Ensign paled. "I didn't know…I swear…they all left the ship alive…he said…"

"Who, Ensign? I need a name. More than one, if you have them." Gibbs tapped the youngest photograph. "Do you _know_ what prisoners do to guys who rape children? 'Cause you're going down for this. I just thought you would want some company, where you're going."

The Ensign shook, and buried his face in his hands.

Sergeant Robert D'Conyours pushed his chair away from his desk, scowling. The old bullet wound in his spine aggravated him even on good days. On bad days it was torture, and today was very bad. His boss had disappeared without notice only yesterday, something the old man _never_ did, and it had something to do with that aggravating woman, Frost. Of that, he was certain. Why else would the old man book a quick flight to America?

_Damn you, Freshie_, he thought, _how many lives are you going to ruin now? Isn't it enough that you chased off my wife and kids? Didn't she leave because of what you left her in a man—a cripple? _

Bitterness choked him-it always did when he thought of the family he had lost-and he reached for the pictures of his kids.

_At least they still keep in touch_, he thought, his finger tracing the frame. He set the picture down, and pushed himself around his desk. Director Smythe's door was open, the latch had given away again, and he wanted to close it. The Director was very particular about how his office was kept; one might say 'obsessive', but never to his face.

He had almost reached the door when he saw the file, its manila corner just showing under the shadow of the Director's desk. Several papers jutted out of it.

_They probably fell when he was packing up, and he didn't notice in his rush_, D'Conyours thought. _I had better at least put them on his desk._

Maneuvering his chair into the Director's office was easier than getting the file out from under the desk, but D'Conyours managed. He was looking for a file label when he heard a familiar voice at the door.

"Robert? Eres tu'?" Sergeant Raul Valasquez stood at the door. "Eez the Director een? I need to see 'eem."

"Oh, bonjour Raul. _Non_, the Director is gone. He had to leave for a mission, and I don't know when he'll be back." Robert tried to tap the folder's contents back into place, but they wouldn't settle. Instead, several pictures actually fell out, bounced across his lap, and hit the floor. Robert sighed in exasperation. "It is _bon_ to see a friendly face, though. Your mission ended early."

"Si', this drug dealer was an _idioto_. He used too much of his own product. He had smart people around him, though, which is why local _gendarmes_ could not take him down. Here, let me 'elp you with that, Robert." The Sergeant squatted down to gather the photos scattered around Robert's chair. Glancing at them, the dark Spaniard frowned for a moment. "Thees looks like surveillance. Isn't this Frost? I thought she was een America. Ees she under eenvesteegation?"

"_Non_, amigo. The damn freshie is still chasing Auten's ghost, and si', her chase took her to America. She's making a fuss about a few whores left for dead by an American sailor, as if there's any _real_ victim, or even our problem. The Director went after her, I think. She might actually listen to him in person." He reached for the photos. "I need to put that back on the Director's desk…"

Raul frowned, looking at the rest of the photos in his hand, and his jaw suddenly clenched. Stepping to the door, he called out "Gunter!"

A tall officer with dishwater-blond hair walked across the office. "Ja, Raul?"

Sergeant Valasquez handed him the pile of photographs from the Director's office. "Vat do you make of thees?"

The German investigator inhaled sharply. "Mein Gott. Are there more of these?"

Robert waved the manila folder. "It was under the Director's desk. We shouldn't intrude on the Director's business, gentlemen. He can handle Frost on his own."

Gunter looked at him sharply. "You're _blot_, Robert. Always have been. This is some of Frost's missing evidence; I recognize it from the description. Und _this_," he snatched the rest of the folder from Robert's hands, "is more of the same. These are victim shots, _dumkoff_, and lots of them!"

"Those aren't all _victims_, you strudelhund," D'Conyours snapped. "Some of those are adult males, not the whores Frost has been trying to avenge."

Gunter's face darkened, and he flipped one of the pictures around. "This _kind_ is about 11 years old: the same age as your _daughter_, Robert. You want to tell me _this_ is a worthless whore?"

Robert D'Conyours took the picture from him, looked at it silently for a moment, and decided the big German was right. She _was_ just about his daughter's age. "Mon Dieu," he whispered. "Then who are these men: perpetrators? Has the Director been covering for them?"

"No," Raul suddenly decided, "I know this man. These are _policia_, like us. Where is Brynja Frost?" he suddenly demanded.

Robert shrugged. "She is supposed to be in protective custody. Lt. Talon, the Canadian in Washington, DC is handling it, along with the American Naval Investigative Service. The Director is there now."

Raul's head snapped up. "Can you boot up a video feed, Robert?"

Sergeant D'Conyours nodded.

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

McGee walked into the office of Deluxe Masque, Gown, & Accessories with McAlister on his heels. A harried-looking secretary sat at a desk, talking on the phone while typing an order on her computer. Seeing the men standing in the waiting room, she held up a finger and mouthed 'just one minute'. They nodded, and she finished her transaction, then hung up.

"Welcome to Deluxe Masque, Gown, & Accessories, gentlemen. How can I help you?"

Both agents pulled out their badges. "I'm NCIS Special Agent Timothy McGee, and this is NCIS Special Agent David McAlister. We need to see your boss right away."

Her eyes widened, and she nodded. Hitting an intercom button, she spoke into her phone again.

"Mr. Tolman? I have two federal agents that need to see you. Yes, sir, I checked their ID's. No, sir, they aren't CIA. They're from an office I've never heard of before: NCIS. Ok." She hung up, and addressed the agents. "He'll be right out, gentlemen."

It was only a minute before a man appeared from the back office, wearing blue jeans and a smudged white dress shirt, toweling water off of his hands.

"I'm Rex Tolman, CEO and Master Painter. We're always eager to help local LEO's, guys. How can I help you?"

McGee flashed his badge again. "Glad to hear it; I wish our visit was under better circumstances. Mr. Tolman, one of your products was used last evening in the commission of a crime. We need to trace the order made to your company, as part of our investigation."

"Oh my god." Tolman seemed genuinely shocked. "What happened? Was anybody killed?"

"Fortunately, no," McGee reassured him, "the attacker was beaten off by the intended victims. Can we see your order records, please?"

"A detailed explanation of how your products are made would be helpful as well," McAlister added.

"Sonya, please get these gentlemen some of our fliers. What sort of product are we talking about, agents? We specialize in a number of different disguises, from mediaeval clothing to high-definition latex personnel replacement units, or LPRU's. I've made complex disguises for the CIA before; that's where I got my start."

"This was a latex mask, disguising the wearer as a federal agent," McGee explained. "I have pictures on my phone, if it will help."

"This way, please," Tolman said.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS**

"Clueless," said Diane Fornell, motioning at Tony with her teacup from across the room, "just like his boss. It's really amazing. Leroy never managed to have a son, as many times as he was married, but he raised his lead agent in his own image."

"Ouch!" Brynja raised an eyebrow. "_That_ was intrusive, rude, passive-aggressive, and uncalled for! What _is_ it with Americans? And who is Leroy?" She cocked her head up at the tall redhead.

"Gibbs," said Tony.

"He mentioned a bitter divorce…" Brynja remembered, "and he strikes me as a serial monogamist." She looked from Diane, to Tony, and back to Diane. "But I don't believe that excuses your treatment of Agent DiNozzo, Mrs. Fornell," she said sternly.

Diane sighed, and pulled up a chair. "It's 'Diane'; I only keep the 'Fornell' now to avoid confusing our daughter. And you're right, I shouldn't take my bitterness against Leroy out against his subordinates. Agent DiNozzo, I apologize."

"Thanks," he nodded, "and just call me Tony."

"You were married to Gibbs?" Brynja pressed, curious.

"Yes. I was his third wife, but before that I was an agent. We worked together for a long time before he proposed," Diane admitted. "Leroy was quite _focused_ when pursuing, but once he had what he wanted, he lost interest. Tobias was the same. That's why we split up: I got tired of being abandoned."

"They both have a weakness for redheads," Tony nodded, "and can be really mean bastards, given the opportunity."

"Yes, I noticed that in Gibbs," Brynja snorted, "but Agent Fornell has been nice. I mean in a paternal sort of way, Diane," she hastened to explain. "Last night was rough, but Agent Fornell actually tried to comfort me when it was over. I really appreciated that."

"Oh, they can both be tender enough, given the opportunity," Diane admitted.

"I'll take your word for it, with Gibbs," Brynja shook her head. "As it is, we can barely work together. I spend most of my time just standing up to him."

"That's the best thing to do right now," advised Tony. "Gibbs'll come around sooner or later, and he'll respect you for it."

"I'll settle for that, if the day ever comes. Right now he's judging me because of someone else. Not like you do," she said to Tony. "Your judgement is based on an emotional _attachment_ to another woman. Gibbs' is based on a _betrayal _by another woman. I just hope it isn't one of his exes's. Thank God I'm a blond!"

"Blond," murmured Diane, reaching out for a lock of Brynja's hair. "Tobias told me about the bastard hunting you. What else does he know?"

Brynja blinked. "Everything. My ex-boyfriend is in custody now, but his grandfather is my boss."

Tony saw the calculating look on Diane's face. "You have an idea."

"I do," she said, cupping Brynja's chin with her hands. She studied the younger woman's features for a moment.

And smiled.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS**

"Why isn't he in MY jail, Lieutenant? How does NCIS have precedence in this investigation?" the Captain demanded. "MY agent gets attacked, another one of MY agents actually MAKES the arrest, and the NAVY takes credit for the bust?" The Captain was starting to inflate, and his face was getting red. "Y'care to explain THAT?"

"I made a judgement call, Captain," Lt. Talon said stiffly. "_Naval_ Petty Officer Coy Themys attacked two NCIS agents last night as well as Officer Frost. While I was the first to cuff him, I wasn't the one who subdued him. That credit belongs to NCIS Agent Sciuto. Furthermore, NCIS was first on the scene with appropriate transportation; I was on my Harley."

"Leave off the lad, Thomas," said a cultured French accent, "he made the right call."

"Ten HUT," bellowed the Captain, leaping to his feet. Talon did the same as Director Smythe walked into the room, flanked by two assistants.

"As you were, gentlemen," the Director said smoothly. Lt. Talon returned to his seat, but the Captain surrendered his desk to his boss. "It seems that Officer Frost was right after all. I've been in contact with NCIS Director Vance, as you know, Talon, and several arrests have been made. With last night's arrest, Lieutenant, can we consider the case successfully closed?"

Talon took a breath. "I wouldn't say so, sir, until the Petty Officer we arrested last night has been interrogated. He's in a secure ward right now with a concussion, thanks to Agent Sciuto. Director Vance and Agent Gibbs did not think he would be ready for interrogation until tomorrow, at the earliest."

"Concussion?" one of the attendants asked.

"Frying pan to the back of the skull," Talon told him.

"Gotta love a woman who knows how to use a skillet," joked the captain. Some light laughter broke the tension in the room. "Would this 'Agent Sciuto' be NCIS forensic expert Abigail Sciuto? Black hair, tats, lots of leather?"

"The same," admitted Talon.

"You know this person, Captain?" asked the Director.

"I tried to recruit her last year," he admitted, "but she loved her job too much to consider moving."

"What a pity," sighed Director Smythe. "Well, gentlemen, we have work to do, and I won't be in town long. Howard, I imagine you have a report to finish, and you need to get back to NCIS to finish up. I need to call Director Vance; I want to sit in on this interrogation of—what was his name?"

"Senior Petty Officer Coy Themys," answered Talon.

"Yes. I want to see the man that has cost us so much time and energy. The rest of you men have work, I assume?" the Director looked around the room.

"Yes, sir," came the chorus of answers.

"Then snap to it. Howard, when you do hear from Officer Frost: tell her to call me. I imagine she's at her father's house, and I know she's on vacation, but we need to speak."

"I will, sir."

The room cleared.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS**

Vance hung up the phone. "That was Scotland Yard, Gibbs. They're sending an investigator to look into our apprehension of their 'dead' prisoner. He should be here within a day. How did interrogation go?"

"Bastard broke down like a baby," Gibbs said, "and he wasn't the only one to do so. Several of them gave up Themys, but they were surprised as hell to find out he wasn't an American. Seems he used his vocal skills to hide his native accent." Gibbs sipped his coffee. "Any word on the condition of the seven we pulled out of the box on the Enterprise?"

"Alive, still hospitalized with dehydration, heat stroke, and shock. Most of their parents have been found, but we haven't been able to take statements yet." Vance sighed. "They might not know anything at all, beyond that they were taken against their will. Preliminary drug screens show traces of a sedative; they were drugged before they were locked in." Vance's intercom beeped. "Yes, Cynthia?"

"Some Interpol personnel to see you, Director."

"Send them in."

"That probably saved their lives," Gibbs noted. He sipped his coffee again. "Is there any _good_ news? If we turn Normand over to Scotland Yard, there's no guarantee he won't escape again. On top of that, there's his grandfather to deal with."

"You should let us worry about that, Agent Gibbs," came a thick Russian accent. "We can clean our own house, da?"

Gibbs bolted out of his chair, crossing the room in two strides to greet the newcomer. "Ivan! _Dobro pozhalovat'! Horoshij videt' Vas! Kak, chert voz'mi, - Vy_?"

Ivan grabbed Gibbs roughly by the shoulders, nearly embracing him. "_Eto bylo slishkom dlinno, moj drug. _I just wish the circumstances were better, _vy znayete_?"

"I take it you two know each other," Vance observed dryly.

"We worked a case together about ten years ago in Moscow," Gibbs explained.

"Da, we made a good team then." The old Russian pulled up a chair. "Where are my manners? I should introduce my team. Director Vance, Agent Gibbs, these are my subordinates, Franklin Skyy and Wilhemena Parks."

"'Billie', please," said Parks, "I really hate being called 'Wilhemena." Skyy only nodded in greeting.

"Down to business," Ivan said gravely. "You have yet to question this suspect of yours, _da_? This Normand?"

"He's still in the secure ward at Betheszda with a concussion," Vance explained. "We hope to interrogate him tomorrow."

"I have an idea, Director, that may solve our joint problem," Ivan offered. "In the meantime, our visit here should be short. My boss may soon show up, and he should not know we are here."

Vance pulled out a fresh toothpick. "I'm listening."

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

Marcois Normand, aka Senior Petty Officer Coy Themys, sat chained to his chair in NCIS interrogation. He squirmed a bit, uncomfortably, but other than that remained still. He knew he wasn't really alone; the large mirror probably hid several agents who were observing him. He smiled. He could wait.

In the observation room, Gibbs stared at the bastard that had caused so much misery. He longed to put his hands on the monster's throat, to _feel_ the life slip away from under his fingers, but he controlled himself. Tony stood beside him, glowering at the man who had stolen his identity to violate a friend. Lt. Talon stood just to Tony's right, his face impassive.

"Where's McGeek?" Tony asked softly. "I thought he wanted to be here for this."

"He's helping Abby with a project," Gibbs said flatly. "How's Frost?"

Tony glanced at his boss. "She's recovering. The women staying at her 'Uncle's' house are working on some project of Diane's. She had an idea that might help us."

"Diane always had a good mind. She was a good agent," Gibbs admitted. "You ready for Round 1, DiNozzo?"

"Hell, yes."

"We need to hurry this up. Director Smythe could be here within the hour," Talon prompted.

"One does not hurry…art," Tony said.

And he left Observation.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Tony walked smoothly into Interrogation, slapping a file folder on the table in front of him.

"Senior Petty Officer Coy Themys," he said brightly, "we haven't been properly introduced. I'm VERY Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS."

Themys/Normand smiled oily. "You're wasting your time, DiNozzo. I know _exactly_ who you are: NCIS agent, fluent in Spanish and English, movie buff, and womanizer. I have nothing to say to you, _wop_. I want to talk to Brynja."

Tony pursed his lips. "Ooooh, that might not happen for a while. I think she's getting her nails done right now. It's a chick thing. But I gotta admit, I can understand you wanting to see her. I mean," he smiled broadly, "she's _hot_. With that platinum hair, and the tight bod, and that _really_ sexy accent, a guy would have to be dead or gay to _not_ want her."

"You have no idea," Themys/Normand smiled fondly.

"Oh, but I _do_. You did choose the womanizer of the force to imitate, remember? And now, thanks to you," Tony leaned forward, putting his fingers together on the table, "we've spent a lot of time together in close quarters. _Really_ close quarters. I must say, I don't normally pick up women like this, but I like how things are turning out between us. Thanks to you, we're _bonding_. It's really amazing!"

The rapist's smile turned cold. "She wouldn't give herself to _you_. She wouldn't last night, and she won't tonight. You're bluffing."

Tony leaned back, smiling broadly. "Ahh, but last night wasn't me, was it? It was Coy being Tony, and doing a really _bad_ job of it, I must say. She spotted your act pretty early, and by the time your lips actually met, she knew _exactly_ what was going on. Oh, and by the way, she said to tell you she meant what she said."

Themys/Normand glared at him. "Which time? The woman talks too much. She needs to learn to keep her mouth shut."

Tony smirked. "All of it, really, but specifically when she said you are a bad kisser. Apparently you really _suck_! No wonder you use drugs and restraints; you couldn't please a woman if you _tried_, so you just focus on pleasing yourself."

"And I suppose you can do better?" Themys/Normand sneered.

"According to Brynja, yes," Tony grinned, stretching. "We got quite…_comfortable_ last night, thank you." The perp across from him started, and he laughed, relaxing. "Oh, nothing serious happened, not yet, anyway. We just necked. She was out of practice, but I'll tell ya, she learns _fast._ That, and she wanted to make sure she could—identify me—in case you tried to take my place again. Like the song says, 'it's there in his kiss'."

Themys/Normand's face darkened. "That's MY GIRL, playboy. Get your own!"

Tony smiled, and leaned back. "Why should I? You just gift-wrapped your ex for me. Now I've got a really hot date planned for tonight. Some wine, some snacks, maybe a movie, and some intimate time in a Jacuzzi. I haven't had this much action in a while." He stood up. "You'll see Brynja eventually. And when you do? That satisfied smile will be courtesy of yours truly." Tony patted the table. "The _real_ Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. I'll be seeing you, Coy." He winked.

Gibbs walked into Interrogation. Looking at Tony, he glowered.

"DiNozzo, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"Gloating, Boss."

"Out." Gibbs jerked his thumb at the door. "You're supposed to be protecting Frost."

Tony smiled. "On her, Boss!"

Themys/Normand started to fight his restraints.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"Interrogation is this way, Director Smythe," Vance said smoothly. "This is our last suspect, the one we apprehended two nights go attacking our agents—I mean yours and mine, of course."

"Of course," the old man murmured. "Has he been any trouble?"

"Not since he was arrested. He keeps whining for his lawyer, but our rules are different from a civilian court's, so he can wait a bit. Odd," he said glancing at his watch, "I was expecting to see Chief Inspector Stewart by now; I was hoping we could all do this together."

Director Smythe stopped in the middle of the hallway, surprise on his face. "I know that name. Doesn't he work for Scotland Yard?"

Vance stopped also. "Yes. What's wrong, Syngion?"

"I'm just surprised, that's all. I thought this was an American Navy problem. What does Scotland Yard have to do with it?" The old man looked puzzled.

"We've run into a bit of a jurisdictional snag with this man, Director Smythe," Vance explained. "It seems that Senior Petty Officer Coy Themys isn't actually who he claimed to be when he enlisted in our Navy. He's actually an escaped English convict. That's why we're glad you're here, Director. Perhaps you can help us negotiate some sort of compromise with English authorities. They want this character to finish serving an older sentence for rape, whereas we'd like to execute him for multiple counts of CSC 1 through 5, kidnapping, torture, and murder."

Director Smythe sighed. "While I appreciate your sentiment, I really hope your government doesn't go along with the execution scenario. It's so…medieval. This is the 21st century! Shouldn't we be more sophisticated than this by now?"

"I don't agree, obviously, Director Smythe. Old-fashioned crimes deserve old-fashioned punishments, and this _is_ a military complex," Vance reminded him. "In here, please."

Vance opened the door to Interrogation Observation, where they found Lt. Talon waiting with Agent DiNozzo. Talon snapped to attention, which Smythe waved away. Tony nodded a brief greeting.

"Directors, you're just in time. Gibbs is just getting warmed up with our boy," he said, nodding at the glass.

"I always find it interesting to watch another agency's interrogation style," said Director Smythe, turning to face the glass. "It provides a refreshing…" the old man choked as he caught sight of the prisoner being interrogated by Gibbs. He coughed once, and his face quickly reddened, inflating with what looked like rage. "**_MARC!"_** He finally spat, his hand nearly touching the glass before being restrained by Director Vance.

"Director Smythe," Vance said coolly, "is something wrong? We do have two names for this suspect: Coy Themys and Marcois Normand."

"Kinda interesting that you should know the second," commented DiNozzo.

"Especially when I never mentioned it," pointed out Vance.

"_Sir_," Talon said coldly, "this perp is a suspect in a long series of international rapes, pedophile rapes, and murders. How do you know him?"

The old man gasped, "Dead. He's supposed to be _dead_. Scotland Yard told me he was dead-killed in some sort of freak prison accident." He gulped and found a chair, then pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. "I buried his remains myself. He's supposed to be _dead_."

"How do you know this man, sir?" Talon pressed.

Director Smythe looked up at the agents standing between him and the observation glass. Grim, accusing faces looked back.

"He…he's _mon fils grand_…my grandson."

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"So that's the story, Captain Hunt. The man you and Captain Jenkins knew as Coy Themys, is actually Marc Normand: escaped convict. He's still in interrogation right now, but I don't expect it will take long with Gibbs on the job. He'll be extra careful with this perp, to make sure there are no legal loopholes he can slip through," Vance explained to the young Captain. "As it turns out, he is also the grandson of Brynja's boss, and knew the Interpol system well enough to use it to his advantage. That's how he was able to track her, using their computer specs and equipment. We had to call a medic for Director Smythe, though. He almost had a heart attack when he realized who Brynja had been chasing for so long."

"How is she, by the way?" Captain Hunt asked.

"She's fine. She's spending time at a day spa with my wife. After the three years she's spent chasing this bastard, she deserves a little pampering. I don't blame her one bit, but I cringe at the bill I'm going to see on my wife's credit card." Vance smiled.

Captain Hunt hesitated. "Sir, is there any way I could see Brynja again? I just want to talk to her, now that this is over…maybe…"

"Boy, you've got it really bad for this girl, don't you?" Vance observed.

The young Captain fidgeted a little. "Oh, yeah. I understand why she went out with me in Izmir, but I just can't get her out of my head." He sighed. "I still remember the first time I saw her. I caught sight of her hair first; it was like seeing a ray of sunshine bobbing through the dock market. I'd never seen anything so beautiful! If there's any chance…I just want to _try_."

Vance smiled. "I'll mention it to her. In the meantime, your men have been under lockdown long enough, I think. I'm going to raise the restrictions on all three ships, and ask SecNav to proclaim a general liberty. We need to celebrate a little before you pull out. You up for some fun, Captain?"

"That will do wonders for the men's morale, Director." The young Captain hesitated again. "Sir, could I see this Themys, this Normand character? I want to look into his face, for some reason."

"Square off against the dragon, eh Captain? Yeah, I can do that. Just behave yourself," Vance cautioned.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Talon and DiNozzo glanced at Director Vance as he re-entered Observation, this time with Captain Hunt in tow. Across the glass, Gibbs was busy taking Normand apart verbally, and the show was getting interesting.

"It's really amazing," Tony whispered, "Gibbs sometimes reminds me of Steven Seagal, the way he almost whispers. It's really creepy."

"It's a good tactic," Talon noted. "Shouting would only put Normand on the defensive, but speaking softly, Gibbs can goad him into making a mistake, piss him off."

"It's weird how he keeps demanding to talk to Brynja, though," Tony noted. "He actually thinks she wants to see him, for some reason."

"He's obsessed, DiNozzo. Men like him aren't logical. To his mind, she owes him something, and he won't rest until he gets it," Vance noted. "Not that he ever will."

"I want to talk to him," Captain Hunt said flatly. "This bastard was under my command, even if it was for only a day."

"In time, Captain. Let Agent Gibbs finish his job," soothed the Director. "Coffee?" he offered, motioning to the pot.

"Yes, thanks," said Hunt.

McGee walked into Observation, holding some papers. "Director, we need to speak right away."

Vance nodded. "Hallway, Agent McGee. Gentlemen, excuse us." The men nodded, but continued to watch Gibbs provoke Normand.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

In the hallway, Vance turned to his junior agent. "What is it, Agent McGee?"

"Sir, I got the records back from Deluxe Masque, Gown, & Accessories: the company that made the mask Normand was wearing when he attacked Abby and Brynja. The photos used to make the mask were taken recently, and payment was made via credit card over the Internet."

"And?" prompted Vance.

"Sir, the credit card belongs to Interpol Director Syngion Smythe. I got the information out of Tolman's computer. I also back-traced the order to the originating computer ISP, and it's in the DIRECTOR'S office in Lyon, France. There's no way he can claim that Normand used his card without his knowledge. It's a new account, sir, and this was only the fifth time it was used."

"Good work, Agent McGee. This looks like the evidence we needed to tie him into a prosecutable crime. I'll inform the Interpol agents watching him—he's under sedation at his hotel room right now, and being watch over by some of our—friends."

Gibbs stepped out of Interrogation. "I need a refill. I haven't talked to anybody this slimy since…"

"The _last_ serial killer, Agent Gibbs?" Vance asked.

Gibbs paused. "Well, yeah Leon. I'd love to break his neck, but he really should take much longer to die. 'Scuse me," he said, and disappeared into Observation for the coffeepot. "Hello, Captain."

Captain Hunt slipped out the Observation door, and took a step towards the Director, then paused. Reversing direction, he walked into Interrogation instead.

"Senior Petty Officer Coy Themys," he growled. "Stand up."

"Ooh," Tony laughed softly from Observation, "this oughta be good!"

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"_Mon dieu_! The boyfriend! What shall I do," mocked Normand. He smiled. "I don't have to take your orders anymore, Captain sir. You know I'm not really a sailor, and I have this…_problem_…with authority, _nec pas_? Plus, even if I _wanted_ to stand," he jumped against his restraints, "I can't. So go swab your deck, or something. See if you can get my _cum_ off of it."

"You soiled the ship, bastard, and all to practice abusing a woman whom you couldn't get anyway!"

"I got further than you will with her, Captain Squid," Normand sneered. "And my capture doesn't mean a thing. I've escaped before; I'll do it again. Next time the Valkyrie won't have a Navy to back her up, and Loki will get his way. I always do," he said, smiling.

"You lost, bastard. Live with it. Live a long, long time with it."

Normand snorted. "Face it, Trekkie: Valkyrie is in the Fight She Can't Win. We'll have our revenge."

Hunt inhaled, standing. "Stay away from her."

"Like I said, loverboy, this is the Fight She Can't Win. It's only a matter of time," Normand smirked. "I'm patient. Last night I made it to…what do Americans call it?…second base. Next time…"

He didn't get to finish. Captain Hunt flipped the table over, scattering the papers onto the floor. Grabbing the perp by his shirt, he started punching him repeatedly in the face!

"Damn," exclaimed DiNozzo, bolting through the door.

Gibbs was on his heels, and Talon followed. It took the three of them to wrestle the manic Captain off of the suspect, and out of the room. Talon and DiNozzo had to hold the struggling Captain, who was still trying to get loose and attack Normand again.

"**ENOUGH**," roared Gibbs, stepping into Captain Hunt's face. "**YOU MADE YOUR POINT! NOW STOP!**"

Panting, the young Captain gradually relaxed. "Think he gets it now?"

"No," grunted DiNozzo, "he never will. He's insane. Brynja's safe," he tightened his grip, and Hunt looked at him, "that's all that's important."

Captain Hunt nodded, relaxing. "I just want to make sure she stays that way."

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

"Anthony DiNozzo," Brynja laughed, "you're going to burn in _Hell_ for lying like that!" Her hair, wrapped in foil for the color Diane was adding, rattled as her shoulders shook.

"You two didn't really neck last night?" McGee looked surprised.

"_Nei_," she said, waving a manicured hand, "I don't know Tony well enough for _that_. I didn't even get a kiss from Daniel in Izmir, now that you mention it." She paused, frowning in thought. "I really miss that," she said wistfully, "it's been a **long time**."

"That isn't the best part," Tony said, toggling the mouse. "Fast forward through all of this boring blah-blah-blah from Gibbs' and Talon's interviews, and watch how it **_ends_**."

"_Daniel_ took a turn?" Brynja was visibly surprised. "Oh, my god! I have to get a _copy_ of this!"

"Wow, I didn't get to see this part," said McGee from behind her. "He's got a wicked right cross!"

"I don't understand something," Brynja said, puzzled. "What's a 'Trekkie'?"

"Captain Hunt is a Star Trek fan," McGee explained. "Remember the movie you saw in Izmir? There's a whole set of books, 4 or 5 TV series, 6 Movies, and countless comic books. It's kind of funny that he's now Captain of the US Enterprise."

Brynja frowned. "Why?"

"Never mind," McGee groaned.

"I'm wondering something," Tony admitted. Brynja looked over at him, and a wicked grin spread across his face. "How many stations do you get with that stuff attached to your head?"

Brynja slugged him in the shoulder. McGee just laughed.

"Brynja," called Diane, walking into the room, "it's time to rinse, then when your hair is dry, we need to go shopping."

"What for?" Tony asked. "I thought you had all the cosmetics you needed here!"

"I need an outfit, Tony, and it has to be _really_ spectacular," Brynja explained, "something that shatters the helpless-clueless-innocent-female image my boss has of me, without being slutty."

His eyes widened. "High-end clothes shopping? I'm on it," he said, reaching for his phone.

Diane's eyes narrowed. "And exactly what do _you_ know about hot women's clothes?"

Tony waved her off. "A-ha, a-ha, very funny. Meet me in the car."

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Later that evening…

Sergeant D'Conyours pushed his wheelchair quietly across the hotel-room threshold. He paused for a second, feeling for the package in his breast pocket. It was still there. He took a deep breath. He hadn't come this far to do nothing; it was time to act. Something rustled from the bathroom.

"Allo? Qui c'est y? Captain, is that you?" Director Smythe called. He sounded odd, D'Conyours thought.

"C'est moi, Monsieur Director," he called out, identifying himself. "Sergeant D'Conyours."

Director Smythe stepped out of the bathroom in surprise. "Sergeant, what are you doing here? Why..?"

"A new development, Monsieur Director," D'Conyours reached into his jacket. "You left something behind in your haste. I had to bring it to you…"

Director Smythe whipped out his Glock, and pointed it at his secretary's head. "Don't be a fool, Robert."

D'Conyours held up a hand. "No weapon, sir: just a file. I found it on your office floor." He pulled out the manila folder, and his face…flexed. He shook his head. "How could you leave me out of this, Director Smythe? After all of these years, the time in this _chair_, mon ami. How could you think I would not understand? Of course," he paused bitterly, "all I can do now is watch."

Director Smythe holstered his Glock. "You might be surprised, Robert; there is a lot you can do." He held out a hand. "Welcome aboard, mon ami. Glad to have you."

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Two days later, at NCIS Headquarters…

"**Duty assignments**," Gibbs called out. "**DiNozzo! McGee!** You're at the Officer's Club front door. **McAlister! Jeffries!** Officer's Club back door! **Abby**!"

"**I'm at the bar**," she shouted in glee. She glittered in electric blue.

"And you're** staying **behind it," he insisted.

"I'm backstage," called out Talon. "**Halley**!"

"Parks, Skyy and I are on the stage," she called from across the room, smoothing her miniskirt.

Talon looked around. "Where are Parks and Skyy?"

Halley shrugged, brown hair bouncing on her bare shoulders. "Still downstairs getting dressed, I think. Skyy needed help with his outfit, and Parks was having problems concealing her holster."

"Where do you want me, Howard?" A throaty Australian accent came from the woman stepping out of the elevator. Tall, tan, and barely dressed in a tan leopard-skin print dress, she turned many heads as she breezed into the bullpen.

"Sassy! You made it!" the Lieutenant exclaimed. "I want you, Macie, and Eric on the floor; you'll be working the crowd."

"Who's Eric?" Gibbs paused in his list and turned to Talon. Talon jerked his thumb to a tall, voluptuous blond in heavy makeup. 'She' winked at Gibbs, and blew him a kiss. "Ah."

"He's French," Talon explained, "and a _master_ of disguise."

"Obviously," nodded Gibbs. He looked around. "I don't see Ivan."

"He said something about chasing down a lead," said Talon.

"Y'know, Tony," said McGee, "it doesn't seem fair that female officers have so little to wear in ops like this." He adjusted the flak jacket under his coat.

"I'll tell you what isn't fair, Probie," said Tony hoarsely, staring across the room at Sasparilla Brown. "Not fair is being locked _outside_ the Officer's club, when all of the action is happening _inside_!"

"Where's your date, Captain?" asked Vance. The young Captain stood next to him on the balcony floor, watching the operation unfolding below him. Director Vance and his wife, Jackie, had offered to handle security at the Captain's table, where Director Smythe would also be seated as a guest.

Captain Hunt looked up. "I spoke with Brynja on the phone about an hour ago. She had a stop to make, and would meet us at the Enterprise. It had something to do with the girls your teams rescued a few days ago."

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

In the Hospital waiting room…

"I need you to wait outside, Uncle Ted," Brynja said, "I'll only be a few minutes anyway, and the girls have had to deal with enough strangers for one lifetime."

"That's ok, hon. I understand," the older man said. "Did you ever find their real mother?"

Brynja nodded, and her face twisted. "Lt. Talon contacted Madrid's PD; she's been dead nearly two months. Either her john killed her, or Marc or one of his friends did. Her body was found shortly after the girls disappeared."

"Damn!" The old man fumed. "As if these kids haven't been through enough already. What will happen to them now?" He glanced at her face. "You've already thought about this, haven't you?"

She nodded, her new curls bouncing around her face. "I want to press for custody. These girls suffered for _me_; the least I can do is give them a decent home." She paused. "If they'll have me, that is."

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"You are sure?" Ivan asked the dock-master. "I have to be absolutely certain. Being wrong could mean being dead."

"You forget who you are talking to, my friend. I **am** the eyes and ears of this harbor." The man sipped coffee from a thermos, then rose from his seat and motioned out the office window. "My boys, they notice things, and they tell me. This ship," he tapped the picture in front of him, "is bad news. One of my older hands got near it a few days ago—the most he could touch was a mooring line—and his guts," he grabbed a spare rag and twisted it. "He gave notice that day. It's spooky."

"The last of the children were rescued before then," Ivan pointed out.

"The innocents have been removed, but the _evil_ still remains," the dock-master insisted. "Mark my words, there's more here than meets the eye. Find your proof any way you must, Ivan, but believe me," he tapped the picture again, "you'll do well to start _here_."

Ivan took the picture, and then grasped the well-callused hand. "Thank you, old friend."

"Anytime."

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Elsa clapped her hands in delight, "Estas muy hermosa, Brynja!"

Sofia smiled. "Y su pelo es tan bonita! Esta como el pelo de la Reyina Boudicca. Tienes una cita romantica?"

Sandra smiled. "Elsa says you look beautiful. Sofia says your hair is pretty, like Queen Boudicca's, and," she smiled, "asks if you're going on a date."

Brynja smiled. "Sort of. I am meeting a friend, but we're meeting to fight the last battle."

"Last battle?" Sandra frowned. "This is an odd uniform, isn't it?"

Brynja fingered her dress. "You might be surprised."

"Esta' el listo?"

"Sí, usted va a beso se?"

Sandra's mouth dropped open in mock scandal.

"What did they say?" asked Brynja.

"This little scamp wants to know if he's _cute_," Sandra began.

"Well, yes, he is…"

"And _this_ little nosey-buddy wants to know if you're going to _kiss_ him," Sandra finished.

"Ok, I want the truth. Which one of you did Tony bribe to ask me this?" Brynja put perfectly manicured hands on her hips and tried to look stern, while Sandra translated.

Both girls raised their hands.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Dockside, the party was starting.

Sailors, finally released from lockdown and dressed to the nines, ran down gangplanks and embraced husbands and wives, girlfriends, boyfriends, parents, and children. Balloons floated from anywhere a ribbon could be tied, and occasionally broke loose to waft above the crowd. Carnival vendors lined the boardwalk, hawking bratwurst, hot dogs, frozen lemonades, and elephant ears. A man in a clown suit carefully navigated the crowd on stilts, and several jugglers entertained children. Marines and sailors lined up at various games of strength and skill to show off, and were rewarded with stuffed animals and lipstick smeared faces. Beer vendors had no shortage of business, moving plastic cups of ale with slices of pizza and BBQ'd pork. The largest restaurant across from the Enterprise had been converted—temporarily—into the officer's club, and while canned music and instructions blared from the dockside sound system, inside the club a live band was warming up.

"I'll say this for the Navy," said Interpol Captain Hawking, "they _really_ know how to throw a party!"

"Indeed they do," observed Director Smythe. The old man looked up at the sign over the temporary Officer's Club. It now read: 'Deep Sea Nine'. "Try not to be distracted by all the festivities, Captain. We have a job to do."

"Don't worry, sir. We all know our duties," the Captain said. The Director twitched, visibly startled. "Is something wrong, sir?"

The old man blinked, and shook his head. "I thought I saw someone I know, but of course it is impossible. Gunter is in Portugal…not here selling bratwurst…I must be hungry…"

"Sir?"

"Nothing, Captain. I need to go inside; I am expected at the Captains' table alongside the American Brass. You have your duty assignment, Captain. We'll meet later."

"Yes, sir."

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"ID, ma'am? This is the Officer's club. Only American Naval officers and guests are allowed inside," Tony said with a smirk. He waved a metal-detecting wand with his right hand.

Brynja put gloved hands on her hips. A long cowl and cape hid her outfit and most of her hair, but it seemed to only accentuate her figure. "And _where_ would I put identification in this outfit, Agent DiNozzo?"

McGee gaped. "I can think of a _few_ places…" Brynja smiled brilliantly at him, and he quickly fell silent.

Tony laughed. "I'll just call Captain Hunt. He's already inside with the Directors," he explained, fishing out his cell phone. When he finished, he pocketed his cell phone and reclaimed his wand.

"Carrying anything dangerous, Brynja? Guns, knives, explosives?" Tony joked, waving the wand half-heartedly in her direction.

"_Anthony_," she chided, deftly catching the clumsily held wand and passing it over a voluptuous hip, "did you forget? I _am_ a dangerous weapon," she purred.

Tony started to sweat.

She released the metal detector to straighten his lapel. "Now, be a good boy, will you?"

"Brynja?" Captain Hunt croaked from the doorway. His eyes mapped Brynja's barely-covered outfit, and his breathing seemed labored. "You look…I mean, your dress…"

She smiled brilliantly, and reached out to straighten his tie. "I'm sorry I'm late, Daniel. Can we go inside now?" She looked up at him, seeming to purr, and her sensuality was almost _electric_.

He waved wordlessly to the doorway behind him, and Brynja breezed past him, her cloak fluttering open a little. Captain Hunt choked a little, watching her walk, and she winked at the three men now guarding the door.

"The things I do for my country," he rasped.

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

Brynja walked smoothly into the restaurant, blinking a little at the sudden dimness. Most of the tables had been cleared to make room for dancing, but the floor was empty; the band was playing a quiet waltz. The bar was full though, officers lounging against it with their dates in tow, calling drink orders to the three women expertly flipping bottles. Abby saw her and waved, then neatly caught a triple genuflection and finished pouring a cocktail. Brynja smiled and waved back, but the motion was caught by another sailor, who misunderstood and sauntered over, smoothing down his hair.

"Hello, hello, hel-LO," he said eagerly. "Can I buy you a drink, Baby?"

Captain Hunt joined her a second later, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back.

"She's with me, Petty Officer," he explained. The man's eyes widened, and he stiffened quickly.

"Captain!" The man saluted his Captain, nodded to Brynja, "Ma'am," and returned to his friends at the bar.

"Our table's this way, Brynja," he said, "can I take your cloak? You're going to get awfully hot in that thing. Not that you already aren't," he added, looking appreciatively her figure.

She laughed. "In a moment, Daniel. For now, I need the effect it gives." She paused for a moment, placing a hand on the one that had slipped to her waist. "And I'm sorry, but I can't join you at the table. Not yet, at least."

"I don't understand." His face clouded, almost becoming angry. "Is this just another ploy? I hoped we could start over, that something from Izmir wasn't completely phony. I can't stop thinking about…"

A gentle finger on his lips silenced him. "Daniel," her voice was silky, "I promised I would _sing_."

She was close enough for him to catch her perfume, a teasing musk. "Oh," he stammered, "I forgot."

"And I'm late getting onstage."

Her lipstick, he finally noticed, matched her hair. "Oh, right."

"Any requests?"

Hunt had to remind himself to breathe. Her scent was intoxicating, and she was so _close_…He shook himself back to reality, looked into her eyes.

"Tell me how you really feel…I want to know…"

Her _eyes_ were teasing him now; he could see it.

"I can sing that," she nodded. "Anything else?" she breathed, leaning in.

He pulled her close in a three-step waltz, and dipped her once. "A backstage pass?"

"Meet me backstage in an hour," she breathed in his ear.

And she disappeared. Hunt caught a glimpse of her cloak swirling around a corner. Blinking, he moved back to his table. The waltz ended.

"What happened to your date, Captain?" asked Director Vance.

"Oi," said Director Smythe, "we did not even get to meet her!"

"She offered to sing me something," he shrugged. "She's headed for the stage. Funny; I didn't think this bar was set up for karaoke."

Gibbs looked at him oddly. "It isn't."

A thick, balding man stepped up to the stage, holding a microphone. "Ahoy, shipmates! With apologies for the delay, please allow me to introduce our band for this evening: _Ragnarok_!"

Brynja glided up to the microphone, shedding her cloak as the band started to play. Hair the color of living flames cascaded past her shoulders, which were bare except for the diagonal strap holding up her dress. A black leopard-print accented the silver fabric clinging to her curves, opening suggestively at the midriff, and finally dropping to a jagged cut skirt ending just above her knees. Silver bracelets curled around her upper arms, and a tattoo peeked over one shoulder. Brynja looked down at Daniel, winked, and started to sing.

"_I'm coming up, so you better get this party started…"_

Director Smythe choked on his drink.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Outside, Tony glanced over at Tim, who was fiddling with a small display screen.

"Whatcha got there, Probie?" He scanned another junior officer for weapons, then let him pass into the club. "I thought another team was covering the video recon."

McGee smiled and turned the small tablet computer around for Tony's eyes. "They are. _This_ is a video feed Abby helped me set up, so we could watch the stage show. I didn't want to miss it!"

_"Get this party started on a Saturday night…"_ Brynja raised her hands as she sang, seeming to call people to the dance floor, which quickly filled for the camera…

"God, I love Abby," Tony moaned. He quickly stuck his wand out in front of a would-be entrant. "Where do you think _you're_ going, seaman?"

"In to see _that_," the young sailor said, ogling Tim's tablet screen. "C'mon, be a pal!"

"Keep walking, boy," Tony glowered at him. "Non-com show is down the block. This concert is for officers only."

"ID, please," Tim said to another. He glanced at the document and the bearer, wanded the man, and let him through. He glanced over at Tony. "You were a little harsh there, pal."

"Hey, if _I'm_ not getting in, none of _these_ runts are getting in," Tony insisted. "Life is tough!"

_"I can go for miles, if you know what I meeeeaannnn…" _Brynja's voice wafted up from the speaker, and blasted out the doors…

"Yeah, it's gonna be a long night," Tim sighed. "ID, please."

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Ivan drew his coat collar up around his neck, and adjusted his seat to make it more comfortable. He briefly wished he could go inside the club, so he could watch the girls sing, but shrugged off the desire. Somebody had to watch the back door, and he was it. Well, technically the NCIS agent, whoever it was, was actually 'it'; he was really surveilling him.

The information he had gained from the dock-master had him worried. Ivan wanted, badly, to get inside and talk to Gibbs. He _needed_ to talk to Gibbs. He'd learned long ago to trust his instincts (what did Gibbs call it? Oh, yes, his 'gut') and his sources, and the combination tonight was very bad.

But he knew how to wait, and when to move. There were, he thought, advantages to being one of the older dogs. Patience was one of them. He cocked an ear; the band was playing an old German pop single, "99 Luftballoons". He smiled to himself. That would be Brynja singing, of course, and probably Billie on guitar and backup. Ah, to be young again…

He didn't notice the men on the roof behind him.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"_There's more than one way to fight_," Liam had told her. "_Know your enemy: what he thinks, what he assumes, what he feels. You use physical leverage to turn your enemy's size and power to your advantage with Kung Fu. You can do the same with your enemy's mind, his feelings._ _Take your time; evil can be patient for a while, but its natural arrogance can be manipulated, provoked into a false move."_

Brynja kept singing, each song pre-selected for maximum effect, establishing her as a woman, a priestess, a temptress, a warrior…

A target.

"_You're good on the stage; you may have to use that someday. Remember: music is emotion. Your enemy can wear a flak jacket, but he can't insulate himself against feeling. You sing, you dance, you get under his skin, into his mind."_

"99 Luftballoons", "Love is a Battlefield", "Stronger than Yesterday", "Fighter", "Miss Independent", "Hit Me With Your Best Shot", "RESPECT", "Danger Zone"…Brynja caught glimpses of her boss, his face alternating between desire and hate…Gibbs didn't seem to notice, he was watching Director and Jackie Vance on the dance floor and chatting with Daniel, who couldn't take his eyes off her.

_"He'll reveal himself, tip his hand. Be ready. Watch for it. You can't wear a flak jacket on stage. Your eyes, your ears, and your gut: those are your armor. Trust your instincts, even if you do have a partner. The better your adversary, the more prepared he will be, the more prepared you must be. Set him up. Make him want you, then let him know you're out of his reach."_

Brynja stopped after "I Feel Like a Woman" for a sip of water, and Billie stepped over for a second.

"Hour's almost up, Bry. Do you want to do that remix we practiced last night? The timing seems right."

"Yes, and then do the last number right after it: no pause. We'll break and hit the dance floor after that, while Howard runs the CD mixer."

"Got it." Billie nodded to Skyy and picked up her guitar again, while Brynja grabbed the microphone. Behind her, the opening chords of Shania Twain's "That Don't Impress Me Much" started to pound. Brynja waved at the camera Abby had placed above the bar, and winked.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"Hey, Tony! She's waving at us!" McGee exclaimed, turning the screen so Tony could see. "Hey, we're at capacity, buddy. No more entrances until somebody leaves." The sailor turned away, grumbling, as Tony secured the velvet rope across the doorway.

"Seriously? She said she worked on a song for us. Turn it up, Probie!"

McGee fiddled with the tablet computer's controls until the sound was at 100%. "Good as it gets, buddy." Brynja's voice floated out of the tiny speaker…

_"I've known a few guys who thought they were pretty smart  
But you've got being right down to an art!  
You think you're a genius-you drive me up the wall,  
You're a regular original, a know-it-all_

Oh-oo-oh, you think you're special  
Oh-oo-oh, you think you're something else

Okay, so you're a computer genius!  
That don't impress me much!  
So you got the brain but have you got the touch?  
Don't get me wrong, yeah I think you're alrigh,t  
But that won't keep me warm in the middle of the night;  
That don't impress me much!"

"Ahh, was that about me?" Tim looked at Tony helplessly.

"Sorry, Probie, I'm afraid so," Tony clapped him on the shoulder in mock-sympathy. "Try not to take it personally…even though it was…"

_"I never knew a guy who carried a mirror in his pocket_  
_And a comb up his sleeve-just in case._  
_And all that extra hold gel in your hair oughtta lock it,_  
_'Cause Heaven forbid it should fall outta place._

_Oh-oo-oh, you think you're special  
Oh-oo-oh, you think you're something else_

_Okay, so you're a DiNozzo!  
That don't impress me much…"_

"She didn't…" breathed Tony.

"She did, big guy," said Tim, clapping him on the shoulder. "Try not to take it personally, even though it was," he paused, looking concerned. "You don't think she'll do the Boss, too, do you?"

Tony looked worried. "I wouldn't put it past her."

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Brynja winked at Gibbs, who raised his glass in a salute.

"_You're one of those guys who likes to shine his machine  
You make me take off my shoes before you let me get in  
I can't believe you kiss your __boat__ good night  
C'mon baby tell me-you must be jokin', right!_

_Oh-oo-oh, you think you're special  
Oh-oo-oh, you think you're something else_

_Okay, so you build boats in your basement!  
That don't impress me much…"_

Gibbs' snorted, and his faux bourbon bubbled out of his nose. Coughing and sputtering, he reached for a napkin, Director Smythe and Captain Hunt pounding him on the back. "Ok, little girl," he wheezed, "it's on."  
_  
"Okay, so what do you think you're an Admiral or something?  
Whatever…"_ Brynja winked at Gibbs again. _"That don't impress me much!"_

Jackie and Director Vance staggered back to the table, laughing and winded.

"This next song goes out by request," Brynja breathed into the microphone, her eyes locking onto Captain Hunt. Behind her, Shania Twain's _"I'm Gonna Getcha Good" _began.

Gibbs stood up, wiping himself off.

"Where are you going?" Director Vance asked.

"First, to the head to clean myself off. Then, I'm gonna kill DiNozzo; that last song had to be his idea! Then," Gibbs straightened his jacket, "I'm gonna ask that little tart to dance. The band is hitting the floor after this song, and I owe her!"

Jackie laughed, but Captain Hunt, his eyes fixed on Brynja, started as if shocked. He jumped to his feet.

"Oh, **_hell _**no," he exclaimed. "Get your own backstage pass, Gibbs!" Straightening his uniform, he started weaving through the crowd towards the stage.

_ "Don't try to run...love can be fun..."_

Director Vance snorted. "Took him long enough."

"Not everyone takes hints the way you do, dear," purred Jackie.

"I shhoood vishit the loo as well," said Director Smythe, standing a little wobbly. "Can 'ou direct me, Agent Gibbs?"

"Yeah, no problem. It's this way."

TBC


	26. Chapter 26

_"Don't want you for the weekend; Don't want you for the night  
I'm only interested if I can have you for life.  
I know I sound serious and baby I am  
You're a fine piece of real estate and I'm gonna get me some land."_

Brynya gyrated slowly through the opening of the song, keeping her eyes low and fixed on Daniel's face; she saw him swallow hard, and winked.

_"So don't try to run; Love can be fun  
There's no need to be alone when you find that someone!"_

"I'm gonna getcha while I gotcha in sight  
I'm gonna getcha if it takes all night  
You can bet by the time I say "go" you'll never say "no"."

She grinned seductively at him, then turned her attention back to the rest of the crowd. Sassy, Eric and Macie had been working the floor all night, gradually frisking each man while dancing, and rarely with the same man twice. Lipstick marked the collars of five men carrying covert weapons.

_"I'm gonna getcha it's a matter of fact  
I'm gonna getcha don't you worry 'bout that!_  
_You can bet your bottom dollar in time you're gonna be mine…_"

A circle formed in front of the stage. _I should have done 'Circus' tonight; it would have been perfect for this, _Brynja thought fleetingly. Sassy, Eric, and Macie were joined in the open floor spot another woman—Diane? _How did she get in here?_ Brynja wondered, then focused on finishing the song while the four agents danced for the whistling crowd. Gibbs leaned over and said something to Daniel, and she saw both men stand.

_"I'll getcha good!"_

Brynja and the rest of Ragnarok took their bows, and she headed for the stage exit. Howard met them there, nodding coldly even as he put on his MC glasses. "Tonight," he said grimly, "watch for it."

Billie's eyes widened as she saw who was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. "Bry, is that who you were…?"

Brynja nodded, pleased at the look on Daniel's face. "Ja, it is!" She giggled suddenly, feeling very much like a teenage girl. "I'll meet up with you on the dance floor, ok? Just give me five minutes."

"Take a fifteen minute break, Bry. Parks, Skyy and I can watch out for you. Get some for me, too!" Halley said the last in a stage whisper as she took her partners by the elbow and led them away.

"What was that about?" Daniel asked when she reached him.

"We're taking a break," Brynja explained, "hitting the bar and the dance floor for a bit before our next set."

"A break? As in, fifteen minutes when you're not working, taking a break?" Daniel raised an eyebrow, and pulled her further into the backstage shadows.

Brynja stepped closer. "That's right."

"Good," he said, pulling her in and closing his mouth over hers.

The scent of diesel exhaust wafted in the back door, but they didn't notice.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Gibbs stepped out of the men's room and nearly into Parks and Skyy, whose contorted figures conveniently blocked access to the hallway beyond them. He watched them for a moment, then pretended to make a call on his cell phone.

"Where are Captain Hunt and Officer Frost?" he asked casually, cupping his hand over his mouth and phone as if to protect it from bar noises.

"First base, hot stuff," said Halley as she smoothed down Gibbs' lapel. She gently closed his cell phone with one hand, while putting a hushing finger to his lips with the other. "We're giving them the better part of valor. Do you dance?"

Gibbs knew the game; he put a hand on her waist, smiled, and seemed to nuzzle her neck. "Only if pressed." His mouth moved up to one of her ears, and she squirmed as if tickled. His eyes raked the dance floor. "Lipstick marks on collars?"

Halley tossed her hair and laughed, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "Men concealing weapons. They've already left the building, and I can bench-press 175," she cooed.

Gibbs grinned evilly, and one hand moved down her back as the other thumb traced her jawline.

"And your boss?"

"Heading for your table."

Gibbs squeezed her waist once, and spun her around. His eyes passed casually over the table where Leon and Jackie Vance laughed alone. "He isn't there now." Abby caught his eye, and made the sign for 'door'. "He's outside. Damn." Leaving Halley behind him, he started weaving his way through the dance floor.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

_BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!_

The **_DC Wine & Spirits_** truck backed slowly to the delivery dock. Brakes squealed and hissed as it halted, and the driver climbed out of the cab. Carrying a clipboard and attached papers, he scrambled up onto the loading dock.

"I got a spirits delivery for ya," he said to the agent guarding the back door. "I need youse ta sign this, and den yer boss cuts me my check," he waved the clipboard for effect.

The agent scowled at the proffered clipboard. "I'll have to call inside. I don't handle this sort of thing." He started as a large older man jumped out of the shadows, and reached for his sidearm.

"Federal agent! Freez…" his words stopped short as the truck driver smashed him in the forehead with his clipboard. The agent spun into the doorjamb, grunted, and scrambled to his knees, but his sidearm had skittered away onto the loading dock. He looked up at a fist.

And blinked as another one crashed into the 'truck driver's' jaw. Ivan stepped in with a punch to the midriff, and a left across the large man's cheekbone sent him smacking into the concrete.

"The boy said 'freeze', Cossack," he placed a large knee in the middle of the man's spine, "so don't move." He glanced over at the stunned NCIS agent. "You all right, boy?"

The agent rubbed his jaw and stood, reaching for his handcuffs. "I will be until Gibbs finds out, thanks. Special Agent McAlister, NCIS. How did you know," he motioned to the prone 'truck driver' as he handed his cuffs to Ivan, "that he wasn't real?"

"_Danka._ First Lieutenant Ivan Prprchoski, Interpol. His watch and his shoes are too expensive for a truck driver, and liquor shipments come in before the weekend begins, not during it." Ivan stood, shook McAlister's hand, and looked at the groaning man on the ground. "This was too obviously a set up. You need to call Special Agent Gibbs back here right away."

McAlister nodded, breathing heavy, and pulled out his cell phone.

The bullet shattered the phone just as he flipped it open, and the truck's back door flew up by itself.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"God, I've wanted to do this for a long time," Captain Hunt gasped, gulping air as he pulled away from Brynja. He ran his fingers through her thick red curls, then down her bare neck, shoulders, and arms. One finger traced the tattooed figure that seemed to fly down her shoulder: a young woman in Viking armor on a flying horse. "Wow. I've never wanted to be a flying horse so much in my entire life!" He kissed her again, starting at her mouth and then working his way down her neck to her tattooed shoulder, until Brynja gasped. His hands pressed into her back, passing over bare flesh and silky fabric and…he stopped in surprise.

"What," gasped Brynja, shaking with desire, "oh, that. Just part of the job, ignore it." She reached for his face again, and kissed him back with rising passion.

"To hell with the damn job," Hunt groaned. "There's plenty of agents to handle things here. Let's get out of here and find some privacy."

"Privacy is over-rated, Captain. Besides, you are just fine where you are," sneered a French accent. Captain Hunt whipped around, shocked, to see a much older man holding a gun: Director Smythe.

"Go ahead and finish what you have started, and let the rest of us have a go as well. The way she is dressed, it won't take long." Director Smythe sneered over the barrel of his pistol as two men, stripping off their lipstick-marked Navy shirts, appeared from behind him. Both were armed.

Captain Hunt pushed Brynja behind him with his left hand, shielding her with his body, and spread his right hand out in supplication. "Leave her alone. Don't be a fool, Director."

Director Smythe motioned with his gun. "Step out, both of you." He motioned to one of the men standing with him, "Search her carefully, she is adept at hiding weapons."

The two thugs yanked Captain Hunt and Brynja apart, and one pressed the barrel of his gun to the Captain's head, silencing him while the other slid his hands over Brynja's scant outfit. The man grinned evilly. "She's unarmed," he said smugly.

"I'm not!" Lt. Talon announced, stepping from behind the curtains, his Luger pointed at the Director's head. "Drop it, Director! I will kill you first!"

"Not if I shoot first, Howard," said a cold New York accent, "drop your weapon, and go home to your wife. This is a private matter." Talon stiffened at the sound of his Captain's voice.

"I always privately thought you were a horse's ass, Baker. Now I know why. How long have you been on the take?" Talon seethed, but did not lower his weapon.

"A little longer than me, unfortunately," said a female voice, stepping in from the hallway. "But we both appreciate where our bread and butter come from, Howard. You never did." Her gun pointed straight at his heart, which seemed to stop beating.

"Parks and Skyy," he rasped.

"They're napping," said Halley.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

A small liquor truck lumbered slowly past security checkpoints and down the alley leading to the back of the restaurant. Tony scowled at it.

"That's odd," said McGee, staring at the screen, "Brynja was supposed to hit the dance floor with the rest of the band after that last number, but I don't see her coming out."

"Nothing odd about it, Probie. See that?" He pointed to the uniformed figure disappearing around the stage corner. "That would be Captain Hunt heading for a long overdue port of call." He glanced up at the puff of diesel exhaust left behind by the truck and scowled again. "This is weird. What day is it, McGee?"

"Saturday. Why?"

"Stay here. Something weird is going on." Tony palmed his sidearm and disappeared around the corner.

McGee scowled and glanced at the screen again, then up at the door. Officers and their dates were starting to leave now that _Ragnarok_ wasn't playing. He caught a glimpse of Director Smythe heading for the door, but the man never appeared. Scowling, he reached for his cell, only to have it go off as his hand touched it. It was Gibbs.

"Boss?"

"McGee! Director Smythe is heading your way. You and Tony keep an eye on where he goes if he leaves the building!"

"Tony's already out back. He suspects something is up. Director Smythe…Boss, he never left the building, he took an odd left turn and disappeared just before coming out the door. He's still inside!"

Gibbs paused, thinking hard. Something was very wrong; he could feel it, but he didn't know which way to go. Scowling, he turned towards the table he had shared with Director Vance, only to run full-tilt into Diane. His surprise showed on his face.

"Diane? What are you…"

"Gate-crashing, Jethro. What does it look like?"

A sudden thought struck him. "How did you get in the building?"

She shrugged. "There's a side entrance. This place doubles as a hot dog and ice-cream stand in the summertime. I come here with Emily a lot."

"Where is it?" She hesitated, taken aback, and he turned on her fiercely, grabbing her arm. "_WHERE_, Diane?"

She pointed, shaken by the look on his face. "Around the corner from the coat room, and down the hall."

Gibbs let go of her arm and took off, "Get out of here, Diane! It isn't safe!"

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs…you are NOT my boss," she murmured, and started weaving through the thinning crowd.

A buxom blond woman caught her eye, and followed her.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Tony ran around the restaurant until he found the truck idling against a dock. Keeping his weapon low, he pressed his body up against the cold brick wall and peered around the door.

Director Smythe held a gun on Captain Hunt and Brynja, flanked by at least two men that he could see. From the snatches of conversation he could hear, there were more inside. The inside of the truck looked empty…except for the extra insulation padding the walls. _Soundproofed_, he realized, _so nobody can hear a victim scream for help. _Glancing around, he saw what looked like three bodies lying on the dock, and his blood ran cold when he recognized McAlister. He was reaching for his cell phone when he heard a footstep behind him.

"McGee, I told you to…" he stopped short at the appearance of the stranger, who also carried a gun.

"Not McGee," said a heavy German accent. "Gunter Kloppenstein, Interpol. Vat is das?"

"Well, _das_ is a heavily-insulated truck for kidnapping people with, and _das_ is one of my co-workers. I just hope your boss didn't kill him; he's after one of your co-workers for some sort of sick game of his."

Gunter nodded. "Brynja Frost: I know. _Mein_ coworkers and I figured it out a few days ago, and came to stop him." He scanned the alleyway. "Do you see anything we could use to puncture the tires?"

Tony kicked himself mentally, and pulled out his buck-knife. "Rule number nine," he said, holstering his gun. Creeping along the ground, he quickly slashed one of the truck's back tires, rolled under the truck, and slashed two more. Coming up on the other side, he found himself face-to face with Ivan, who lay bleeding on the dock. The old Russian's eyes opened.

"Stop him," he rasped. "Director Smythe…Captain…traitors…death ship…black ship…"

Tony hushed him, and nodded to Gunter. Silently, both men climbed onto opposite sides of the dock, straining to hear what was happening just inside the door.

"Since 'ee wants to play the champion, let him come along," Director Smythe snarled. "Captain, Corporal, I trust you know what to do with Lieutenant Talon. Now,_ dévergondée,_ in the truck!"

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"Corporal, I'm disappointed," Talon scowled.

"You always were, sir," she replied coldly.

"ENOUGH TALK," snapped Director Smythe, "Brynja and I have business to attend to, oi? You," he motioned to the man holding a gun on Captain Hunt, "tie his hands and put him in the truck. Since 'ee wants to play the champion, let him come along. Captain, Corporal, I trust you know what to do with Lieutenant Talon. Now, _dévergondée_," he grabbed Brynja by the hair and shoved his gun into her face, "in the truck!"

Something flew over Director Smythe's head, smashing into the wall behind him. He ducked reflexively, and his gun flexed away from Brynja's temple. Seeing her chance, she struck his wrist, knocking his gun to the floor.

A knife sailed out of…where?…striking the man holding Captain Hunt in the shoulder. He howled in pain and dropped his weapon. The other thug jumped forward to grab Hunt, only to stop short and fall to the ground, twitching as Brynja's Taser, taken and concealed by Hunt, pumped voltage into his body.

More rogue sailors appeared out of the shadows, only to be met by Sassy and Macie pulling guns out of only-God-knows-where. Diane and her blond friend swarmed the stage, only to have Captain Baker grab the blond woman by the throat.

"Don't be stupid, sweetheart. Stay out of the way," he snarled.

"Don't call me sweetheart, idiot," the blond growled, 'her' voice suddenly bass. "You aren't my type!" Captain Baker's hold loosened in shock, and Eric clobbered him. "GO, Diane!"

Diane sprinted across the stage, tackling Halley, smashing the gun from her hand. "GO, Howard!"

Lt. Talon grabbed his pistol, running to assist Brynja, only to stop short.

The wrestling match for the pistol was over, but Director Smythe held Brynja by her hair again, a knife to her throat.

"THE WHORE IS MINE," he shouted, dragging her towards the truck. Brynja slipped on something, kicking at it to regain her footing. "SHE RUINED EVERYTHING…SHE HAS TO PAY!"

"She doesn't have to pay for your mistakes, Syngion," Gibbs said coldly from just inside the doorway. "Drop the knife! I mean it!"

Shaken, Smythe turned to see three guns trained on him: Gibbs, DiNozzo, and Gunter Kloppenstein. Manic eyes fixed on Gunter. "First Ivan, then Talon and Brown, and now you, Kloppenstein? _Et tu, Brute'?_ You see what you have done to my unit, _cherie_? First my creation, then my family, and now my unit?" His voice dropped to a whisper, and the knife in his hand touched the skin of her throat. "I wanted you to suffer, _cherie_, but I'll be satisfied just to know you're finally dead."

"Don't do it!" shouted DiNozzo.

"Put it down, Director!" called Gunter.

"You'll never be man enough, Director," Brynja rasped. "You couldn't kill my partner without hiring a gang, you can't violate children by yourself, and you can't take me out by yourself either. Face it, old man: you're impotent!"

Director Smythe took the knife away from Brynja's throat, and put the point to her chest instead.

"You little _dévergondée_, stupid _vierge_, what do you know of _virilité, eh_?" He twisted the point of the knife, and it started to prick her skin. "You're _fini_, Valkyrie, done, and your new _ami_ can watch you die." He pivoted, keeping Brynja's body between himself and the Gibbs-DiNozzo-Kloppenstein trio of guns.

"**DIRECTOR**," bellowed Captain Hunt.

Director Smythe whipped his head around to where Captain Hunt lay prone on the floor. The Director's gun was in both hands, pointed straight at his chest.

"**That's my girl**," he rasped, and pulled the trigger. Director Smythe jerked once, a surprised look on his face. "**Get your own**," shouted Captain Hunt, and shot him again.

The knife dropped from numb fingers, and Smythe's hold on Brynja loosened. Elbowing him in

the gut, she dove away from him as he fell.

Daniel reached her first: wrapping his arms around her trembling form as NCIS and Interpol agents swarmed the scene.

"Done, it's done," he murmured. "It's over."

Chaos reigned, and sirens wailed, but Brynja, her face buried in Daniel's chest, knew none of it.

**TBC**


	27. Chapter 27

Brynja paced the hospital waiting room: head down, arms crossed in front of her, heels clicking on the tile: Ivan had been rushed into surgery, a bullet in one lung.

McGee watched her pace. Director Vance had cleared him from the crime scene. Nobody felt Brynja was safe, not even with Director Smythe on a gurney and his cronies in custody, so he had volunteered for security. Feeling Brynja needed female company, Abby had come along as well; the two of them silently marked time in the corridor while McGee occupied a chair.

"You're bleeding," Abby suddenly said, pointing at the center of Brynja's dress. A small tear in the fabric accentuated a wet red stain: the mark left by Director Smythe's knife.

Brynja blinked, looking down. "I hadn't noticed." She looked at her arms, which had covered the wound while she paced. They were marked with blood. "I don't even feel it; it's probably just a scratch."

"Let's get something from the nurse's station, just the same," offered McGee. "Abby can help patch you up; I'll keep watch."

The trio was still talking when the operating doors opened and the surgeon emerged, removing his cap and wiping his brow. Seeing them, he walked over, smiling.

"He's critical, but I think he'll be fine. I was able to extract the bullet, and the damage to his lung was considerable, but not impossible to deal with. The team is closing now, and we'll move him into recovery."

"I'll need any pieces of the slug you recovered for lab analysis, Doctor," Abby prompted.

He nodded. "I'll make sure you have what you need."

The conversation continued between Abby and the surgeon, but Brynja stepped away, the color draining from her face as she stared at the operating room door.

_A tall man with silver-red hair was walking into it. Looking at her, he smiled, and gave her a 'thumbs up' sign, then disappeared through the door._

"Brynja? Are you ok?" McGee stepped to her side. He touched her arm. "Brynja?"

_He walked back through the door, this time with Ivan beside him. _

"Sergeant?" She took a hesitant step towards the pair. "Ivan?"

_He stopped, scowling suddenly, and shook his head. He held up a fist, then an open palm at arm's length. Ivan repeated the action._

"Brynja?" McGee studied her face; it seemed suddenly frozen, except for a single tear. "Brynja, the doc said he'll be fine…"

"Ivan is dead," she said flatly.

The surgeon scowled. "Young lady, I assure you that…"

A nurse stepped through the operating door, banging it in her haste. "**DOCTOR!**"

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

_Next morning…at NCIS headquarters…_

"Pulmonary embolism triggered a massive heart attack, right there on the table. He never really had a chance," Tim told Tony. "Parks and Skyy are really beat up about it."

"That's understandable," Tony offered, typing. "He was their senior agent, after all, and they couldn't be there for him. Smythe didn't even make it to the hospital alive, thanks to Captain Hunt. Good riddance, too. How's Brynja?"

Tim frowned at his computer screen. "I don't know, Tony. I think the stress is finally getting to her." He typed more on his report, then glanced over at his partner. "I think she should see a counselor. She said she saw her old supervisor come and 'get' Ivan out of the operating room."

Tony stopped typing, and glared balefully at Tim, swiveling his chair to face the younger agent. "**Tell** me you **didn't** suggest she see a **shrink**, Probie."

Tim stopped typing and looked at Tony, puzzled. "Well, yeah. It only makes sense; she's been under a lot of stress for the last three years, and now the ghost of her old partner starts sending her hand signals? She's…"

"Not crazy, McTherapist." Tony stood up suddenly. "Where is she now?"

"Vance's office, but…"

Tony took the stairs three at a time.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Director Vance steepled his fingers together, looking at the three agents sitting across from him: Gibbs, Frost, and Talon. "Nice work, people. You managed to uncover one hell of a rat's nest between here and Lyon. I'm just sorry it took this long to close."

"No apologies are necessary, Director Vance, at least not from your department. Director Smythe," Brynja scowled as she mentioned his name, "was a perverted, evil genius and a manipulator. He is entirely to blame."

"I've already been in contact with the International Board that oversees our operations, Director Vance. They'll pick a new Director within the week. For now, our Deputy Director has assumed that position, and is busy clearing out the rest of the house," Talon offered. He scowled. "Discovering my Captain and Corporal Halley were a part of this hurts worse. I thought I knew them both; I trained Halley myself."

"Bad dog," muttered Frost.

"Is there anything left to clean up?" asked Vance.

"Just paperwork and funerals, Leon: the usual," said Gibbs. "I'd like to accompany Ivan's body back to his wife, if I could. He was a good friend to me years ago; I feel I owe him that."

"I can arrange that, Gibbs," Vance said, leaning back in his chair. "As for the two of you," he said, turning to Talon and Frost, "I think this brings our working arrangement to a close. I would appreciate a copy of any report you file on this case for our own records, if you don't mind. I'll make sure you get copies of our evidential analysis for your records," he motioned to them with his toothpick, then placed it back in his teeth. "Frost, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't leave the country for a while. I may need to call you as a witness in our case against Normand."

"That will be fine, Director. I plan to be in the area for a while anyway. I'm pressing for custody of Sofia and Elsa; at least one family will be made whole out of this mess."

Gibbs looked surprised. "How does Captain Hunt feel about that?"

Brynja looked at him sharply, and the ice returned to her eyes. "That relationship is none of your **business**, Agent Gibbs. I'd like you to leave well enough alone, if you **don't** mind." She stood up. "Gentlemen, I have an appointment to keep, so I'll take my leave of you now. Director," she nodded, and left.

Vance turned to Gibbs as soon as the door was shut. "Haven't apologized yet, I see."

Gibbs shrugged. "It's a sign of weakness, Leon."

Talon sighed, leaning back in his chair. "In some countries, Gibbs, it's a sign of civility. This is going to bite you in the ass someday."

Gibbs' cell phone beeped. "Yeah, Abbs? Ok, I'll be right down." He stood up. "Leon. Howard."

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Tony caught Brynja just as she stepped out of Director Vance's office. "Brynja? There's something I want to show you."

She smiled, for once relaxed. "Sure, Tony."

The pair walked down the stairs and past the Wall, which Brynja traced with a finger. "We have a similar one in Lyon," she commented, "but our pictures are different, of course."

Tony only raised an eyebrow; the Most Wanted List wasn't what he wanted to see, but he thought the differences were odd. He made a mental note to ask her what was different about hers, and kept walking. The pair rounded another corner to face another wall: The Fallen.

"This is where we remember agents who were killed in the line of duty," he explained. "A lot of these happened before I joined NCIS, but some of these," he started pointing out different photographs, "were friends. This was Chris Pacci, that's Larimar over there, here," his hand stopped at a picture of a blond woman, "is Agent Cassidy. She threw herself onto a suicide bomber to save us." His face contorted at the memory. "God, she was tough. A serial killer had her hands cuffed behind her back, and she still managed to kill the bastard. Damn good agent. This," his hand stopped again, "is Kate Todd, my partner."

"The one you told me about, shot by a terrorist in front of you," Brynja recalled. She glanced up at the much taller agent. "You speak of them in the present tense, but the dates…"

"Don't matter to me. I don't think of them as dead, really. I mean, I know they **are**, obviously, but I prefer to think of them as fighting on another plane of existence." He smiled a little sadly. "Kate and I used to argue like cats and dogs, but we were a great team. When she was killed, I actually saw her in the bullpen for about a week afterwards, and the nit-picking never really stopped even then. I still talk to her sometimes."

"Tony…"

He turned to her suddenly, his face fierce. "My point is, I'm not crazy, and neither are **you**. Don't let some well-meaning-but-thoughtless-Probie of mine plant the suggestion. If you want to see a counselor, that's your business. You've had a rough stretch, and you might need somebody to talk things over with, but don't start doubting yourself. There's nothing **wrong** with you."

She thought about that for a moment, one finger tracing Kate Todd's picture, then looked up at him again. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"And thanks for having my back."

"Anytime."

Brynja glanced over the Wall of the Fallen. "Your last partner isn't here, so…" she looked up at his face, which was suddenly stricken.

"No, she isn't dead, not in any sense. She left NCIS."

"She left **you**," Brynja corrected, one hand tapping his chest, "that's what you mean. And you feel it here; it's very personal. You were close," she noted, "maybe too close, and the separation was…wrong somehow. Did she even say goodbye?"

"No." Tony's face had become a shell. "She just told Gibbs she couldn't trust me anymore."

Brynja stepped close, her voice dropping to a whisper, and her eyes locked into his. "Then she's either emotionally conflicted, or an idiot, and I doubt she's an idiot."

"Brynja…"

"No, Tony, this time **you** listen. You're missing your _Yin_, and it shows." One finger traced a circular symbol on the wall. "It shows a lot. You may be able to fill that desk with another agent. It may even be another woman, but nobody can take the place of your _Yin_. This woman, whoever she was, was more than a partner to you; she **completed** you. You have to find her. Drag her back by her hair, if you have to, and fight things out. You won't be able to move on until you do. Fill a desk perhaps, yes, but move on: no."

Tony looked down at the fierce little agent in front of him, and let her words sink in. "You're right."

"Naturally," she smiled a little, then grinned wickedly as she pulled a flash drive from one pocket. "Now, I have some pictures to show **you**. A promise is a promise!" She looked at Kate's picture one more time. "Nice meeting you, Kate."

_"You're still pathetic, Tony!"_ Kate's voice rang in his mind as he led Brynja back to his desk.

"Can it, Kate," he muttered good-naturedly.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"This is me about four years ago, when Liam and I broke up a pornographic slave gang in France. Liam and I went undercover: he was my pimp, and I was his…"

"I get the idea," nodded Tony, eyes wide. "Damn! You dress like that for work, and yet…"

She slugged him in the arm. "You're forgetting, my partner was gay."

"He'd have to be!"

"What are you looking at?" McGee scooted his chair over towards Tony's desk, only to have Tony whip around at him.

"Back off, Probie! These pictures are for adults only!"

"Not all of them," Brynja clicked the mouse again, "I keep pictures of my family in here, too. That way I can feel a little close to them, even when I can't talk to them in person. See, here's my mom (click) and these are my siblings (click) and these are my nieces and nephews (click). Here's a picture of my mom and stepfather on their wedding day; I'm the flower girl in the pink dress in the front."

"You haven't grown much since then, either, have you? Ow!" Brynja had slugged Tony again.

"Wait a minute, this is your step-dad?" Tim looked puzzled. "He could pass for your natural father."

Brynja nodded. "_Pabbi_ and Mama were high-school sweethearts, and everyone thought they were going to get married. Then Mama ran off with my natural father. That marriage produced me, but it didn't last. My father didn't want to give up his career, and Mama didn't want to leave Iceland, so when he was transferred my parents divorced. Pabbi was there for her after my father left," she shrugged, "and they just picked up where they had left off. Pabbi even adopted me, so I have an Icelandic surname as a result."

"That makes sense. I was wondering how you could be a 'Sykurhjupa' with an American father," Tim commented. "Nice of him to adopt you, too."

"There is an Icelandic insult that dates back to World War II. Loosely translated, it means "son of an American's whore". Pabbi didn't want me to have to deal with that kind of harassment. He's really a good man, and for many years the only father I ever knew."

Tony transferred the picture to the plasma screen. "I just can't believe any man would choose a job over **_that_**," he said, shaking his head at the attractive blond on the screen.

"Me either!" said another voice. "Wow, Bry, is that your sister?"

Brynja smiled. "No, Daniel, that's my mother." She stood up and slipped an arm around his waist, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the lips. "Hi."

He smiled. "Hi yourself! That makes sense," he said motioning to the screen. "'As runs the river, so runs the stream' my grandmother used to say," he nodded appreciatively. "Are you ready to leave, or do you need to visit the head first?"

"You're leaving? Where are you going?" Tony looked surprised.

"Daniel and I are having lunch. I know it's early, but we have to get through traffic and get our seats, or we lose our reservation," Brynja explained. She looked puzzled for a moment. "What is a 'head' that I should visit?"

"That's Navy talk for the ladies' room," Tim explained.

"Oh, in that case no, we can leave now." Brynja ejected her flash drive, and put it in her purse. Captain Hunt was playing with her still-crimson curls. "What?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking I really prefer your natural look." He smiled. "It's much prettier."

"So, where's lunch?" Tony's natural curiosity piqued.

"Wouldn't **you** like to know?" Brynja teased. "Daniel, let's get out of here before he decides to surveil us. Tony is too nosey for his own good!"

"That's a good idea. Besides," Daniel said, checking his watch, "we don't want to be late. We can take our time once we get there, but we had better hurry now."

"I'll take you down," Tony offered.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"So, I was running sound-application software on the voice recordings from Brynja's apartment, and I ran into a snag," Abby explained. She put the analog waves next to each other on the screen. "I was hoping to match them to Normand, which would give us more evidence against him."

"Yeah, and you couldn't?" Gibbs gulped his coffee, scowling at the screen.

"Actually, I did, but only one of the recordings is a match. The other recording, the second one, is an entirely different voice: another perp. I don't know who it could be, we have a lot of suspects in lockup from the ship and last night's bust, but I'll need to get voice samples from them for analysis."

"No problem, Abby. We have samples from interrogation I can give you." Gibbs gulped his coffee again. "How's ballistics going? You get anything on the bullet that killed Ivan?"

"Absolutely. I was getting to that." She changed computers, and called up pictures of spent rounds. "This is the bullet that killed Ivan. It's similar to the one that grazed McAlister; he was lucky. We found this one lodged in a wall, instead of inside McAlister's head, so he has a massive concussion instead of being dead."

"Good thing, too. I'm tired of loosing agents."

"Me too. Here's where it gets weird, though. All of these bullets came from the same gun, the one Captain Hunt used to kill Director Smythe."

"And this is weird how?" Gibbs' brow furrowed.

"This round came out of the chamber," Abby held an unspent round in a specimen jar out to Gibbs. "I used fresh ammo  
for my comparison test, because the clip was empty, but _this_ was still waiting to be fired."

Gibbs looked closely at the bullet. "This is a blank."

"Yeah, and it's really _hinkey_. I mean, why would any psychopath load his own gun with blanks, when he knew he was going to kill somebody he had been setting up for the past three years? That just doesn't make sense!"

Gibbs looked troubled. "Maybe he was never going to shoot her. He did have a knife…"

"Rule number nine," Abby nodded. Gibbs glared at her. "Well, it is for us."

"He dropped his gun to use the knife, had it against her throat…Abby, pull up that second recording, the one you said didn't match Normand, and clean it up so I can hear what he sounds like."

"Already done, Papa Bear." Abby typed quickly, and Grendel's restored voice boomed through the Forensics Lab:

_"HANDS OFF, PLAYBOY, THAT'S MINE! GET YOUR OWN! YOU WHORE! YOU WANT ATTENTION? YOU'RE GOING TO GET PLENTY! THERE'S CONSEQUENCES FOR CROSSING ME! I TOLD YOU TO STAY!"_

"Oh, God, no," Gibbs moaned, and sprinted for the elevator door.

"Gibbs? Who is this?" Abby asked, but he was already gone.

**TBC**


	28. Chapter 28

Tony stepped out of the elevator, scowling, and headed back to his desk. He considered typing a necessary evil, one of those things that had to be done to stay employed, the mundane that balanced the usual excitement of his job. "Bleah," he muttered.

"What's with you, big guy," McGee joked, "white knight get the girl again?"

"She's not my type, Probie," Tony groused, "so she's free to date anyone she wishes."

"A hot, kick-ass blond isn't your type? Since when? I thought the only women you didn't chase were red-heads!" Tim was in a good mood, and relished any chance to rub in a suspected loss.

"That's because Gibbs has dibbs on all red heads, McNosey. I value my life and my ability to pro-create, so I don't mess with Papa Bear's porridge," Tony muttered darkly. "Besides, she isn't my _Yin_," he explained, glancing up at the once-again empty desk across from him.

"Your what?" It was Tim's turn to look puzzled.

"It's something Brynja said. My last partner was the _Yin_ to my _Yang_, someone who completed me. We broke up wrong. According to Brynja, I need to find my _Yin_, and hash things out for real, even if we don't end up as partners again." He settled back in his chair, staring openly at the empty desk. "You know? I think she's right."

Tim stopped typing to look thoughtfully at the empty desk. "Ziva. I think Brynja's on to something there. You need to talk to Ziva again, and straighten things out," he hit the 'Enter' button with some flourish, "even if you get your ass kicked in the process."

Tony over-fabricated a grimace at the thought.

"So, where are Brynja and the Captain going for lunch? Brynja was dressed nice enough for the Four Seasons," Tim commented.

Tony returned to his typing. "They're taking in one of those lunch cruises popular with the tourists and the hoi-polloi. Some Japanese ship probably filled with tofu and sushi—bleah."

"Japanese?"

"Must be; the name was weird enough. Kamikaze Moroo, or something like that," Tony started his hunt and peck, but looked over at Tim when he heard him gag. "What?"

"Kobiyashi Moru?"

"Yeah, that's it. Why?"

Tim's face drained of color, and he reached frantically for his phone.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"Gibbs? What's wrong?" Abby closed her computer file and dashed after her boss.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Gibbs ran out of the service elevator in time to see a shaken McGee lean into his phone. He opened his mouth to talk to Tony, who was staring at McGee in amazement, when McGee bellowed.

**"GODDAMNIT, MARINE, I SAID OPEN FIRE! NOW, NOW, NOW!"** Tim slammed his phone down, grabbed his badge and gun, and ran for the elevator door—the one that went outside. **"Truck! Now!"**

Gibbs grabbed the near-hysterical agent. "MCGEE! TALK!" Several loud 'pops' were heard from outside.

Tony spoke first. "Brynja just left with Captain Hunt for a lunch date. McGee freaked out when I told him the name of the cruise ship."

Tim shook his head. "The ship's a fake! _Kobiyashi Moru_ is the name of a vessel in the Star Trek series. It's the code name for a fight that cannot be won, because it ends in certain death! **_Hunt has been Grendel the whole time!"_**

Gibbs reached for his computer monitor, where a black triple mast schooner sat anchored on his screen. "Fake my ass; this picture was on Frost's flash drive. The name on the bow is _K. Moru_!" He grabbed his badge and gun, and Tony followed suit. Turning towards the door, he nearly ran over Abby, her face contorted with fear for Brynja, but stubborn as well.

"I'm coming too, Gibbs. She's gonna need me," the small Goth insisted.

Gibbs stopped for a second, his face grim. "No. Not this time, Abby."

She grabbed him by the sleeve. "Dammit, Gibbs, you don't have a woman on the team any more! She's going to need another woman!" Abby was near tears. "**She's my friend**! I couldn't help **Kate**, and I couldn't stop **Ziva**, but I have to help Brynja! **_Do you have any idea what he's gonna do to her?"_**

**"YES,"** Gibbs roared, **"I know exactly what he's planning to do!** He's been practicing for three years now! If he gets his hands on you, **he'll do it to you too**! Now you **STAY HERE!**" Grabbing his handcuffs, he secured Abby to a drawer, then sprinted to the elevator. The doors closed.

Agents pooled in the bullpen, some trying to release Abby from Gibbs' cuffs, and others looking out the window, puzzled at the Senior Field Agent's behavior. Abby, tears starting, rummaged through the items in the desk she was locked onto, trying to find an appropriate pick.

"Try this," said Director Vance, holding out a key. He glanced up. "Special Agent Franklin?"

"Yes Sir?"

"Captain Hunt's plates and car description will be in the visitor's log. Put out a BOLO."

"Yes Sir."

"Special Agent Marks."

"Sir."

"Alert the Yard MP's of the situation. Captain Hunt is not to leave the Yard under any circumstances. They are authorized to use deadly force if necessary, but stop that car."

"Yes Sir."

"Miss Scuito."

"Yes, Director. (sniff)"

"We issued Officer Frost an NCIS compatible cell phone less than a week ago. Can you trace the GPS using McGee's computer?"

She shuddered. "Yes, Director."

"Snap to it."

"Yes, boss (sniff)." She started typing.

"Special Agent Hendricks!"

"Tracking the goddamned death ship now, sir. East End Wharf, Dock 66." The agent looked up at his boss, who had paused to raise an eyebrow in his direction. He shrugged. "It seemed appropriate."

"Well said," he nodded, "now head down to Interrogation and see what kind of information you can shake out of Normand. He's in on this." Vance picked up the phone on DiNozzo's desk, and a moment later it made its connection. "Captain Allen, this is Director Vance, NCIS. Captain Daniel Hunt has committed treason, and is seeking to leave the country on a sailing vessel with at least one hostage. We need to kick ass and take names. How fast can you be underway?" He paused. "Excellent. Weigh anchor. I'll be there in 15." He hung up, and turned to Abby. "Miss Sciuto."

She sniffed again. "It's coming up now, sir. Brynja's phone is stationary at the East End Wharf, but near Dock 99 in the parking lot. May I…"

"Negative," he said calmly. "You stay here and man this station, Sciuto. Call Gibbs' team with the information; they need it. We need that brain of yours **here**, to crunch numbers and co-ordinate data. Understood?"

"Yes, sir (sniff)." She nodded, and picked up the phone.

"Good." He picked up DiNozzo's phone again. "Dr. Mallard? Director Vance. Meet me in the parking garage immediately." He hung up, and turned to the bullpen. "Special Agents Boyle and Anderson: with me." The trio headed to the elevator, strapping on guns as they went.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Gibbs swerved around several cars, horns blaring, while DiNozzo tried to pull out his cell phone. Another swerve sent it flying to the truck floor, just as McGee's phone went off.

"Abby?" He listened, for a moment, "That's great, we needed that. Thanks," he said, hanging up. "That was Abby, boss. She managed to track Brynja's NCIS-issued phone to the East End Wharf."

"Damn! I can't reach my cell to call Brynja," Tony fumed.

Gibbs pulled his off his belt. "Use mine, DiNozzo. She'll listen to you before me."

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Captain Hunt had parked his car, and was helping Brynja from her seat when her phone went off.

"Just a minute, Daniel," she said, reaching for her phone. The caller ID read "GIBBS", and she made a face. "Ugh. First he insults me, then he refuses to apologize, then he pries into my personal business, and now he's calling me on personal time! Can't that man leave me alone long enough to enjoy lunch?"

Daniel's hand softly covered hers. "You don't have to answer, you know. It's not like you work for him."

She smiled. "Or owe him any extra pleasantries."

"Exactly. That's why God made voicemail." Hunt unclipped his own cell phone from his belt. "Tell you what. I'll leave mine behind, if you leave yours. That way, we can enjoy the afternoon uninterrupted." He tossed his phone onto the car seat, and Brynja smiled and followed suit.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"Damn! Straight to voicemail," Tony fumed. "She either doesn't have her phone…"

"Or she doesn't want to talk to me," Gibbs muttered. "Talon said this would bite me in the ass someday."

"We're here," announced McGee, "Abby said they were parked near Dock 99, but that the K. Moru is supposed to be anchored at Dock 66." He scanned the assorted sailing vessels, but none were black or schooners. "I don't see it, boss."

Gibbs slammed on the brakes near Dock 99, and they all piled out of the truck. Captain Hunt's car was plainly visible, as were the two cell phones sitting unattended on the passenger seat. The car was locked. Desperate, the three agents each ran down adjoining docks, glancing into various speedboats and small yachts that sat at anchorage, but they found nothing. Gibbs finally found an empty spot on the dock. "Here!" he yelled, looking down. DiNozzo and McGee joined him, panting.

"The silt and water are disturbed; there was a speedboat here, and it recently left," he said, turning to scan the horizon. Numerous pleasure craft idled by, and several sails appeared on the morning horizon, but they recognized none of them. "Damn! Is there any other way we can trace them?"

"The boat may have onboard GPS," McGee offered, "we just need the boat's name, type, and owner."

"Harbormaster," DiNozzo grunted, running back up the dock.

Five minutes later the trio burst into the Harbormaster's office. He certainly _looked_ surprised to see them. Or would have been. He had been shot to death in his chair.

Tony staggered out of the office to look blankly at the eastern horizon. **"BRYNJA,"** he screamed, but there was no answer except the sound of gulls.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"Business is business, Ted," Fornell said smugly. "You knew this day would come sooner or later."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the older man groused, "but I still don't have to like it." He stood back and scowled as five armed FBI agents took pictures of the contraband on his yacht, while another read crewmembers their rights. His cell phone went off. "Do you mind, Tobias?" He held up the phone from his breast pocket.

"Go ahead," the grizzled FBI agent said, "and then you should probably call your lawyer."

Ted frowned; the number didn't look familiar, but he opened his cell anyway. "Hello? Who is this? Oh, hello, Miss Sciuto. Look, I can't right now, I'm kinda busy, and…." His face drained of color. "When?" He paused, and sat down on the ground, listening.

"Theodore, is that who I think…" Ted waved for him to be silent, then nodded and gagged.

"Yes, that's Agent Fornell." The man sounded suddenly old. "You should tell him. Here, Tobias: Miss Sciuto needs to speak to you," he said, handing the phone up to his old nemesis.

"Miss Sciuto? Agent Fornell. Look, I'm in the middle of an investigation, and…"

The voice coming out of the speaker was tinny, but loud and clear. _"Dammit, Fornell! For once you listen to me…"_ Shocked, Fornell took a breath and listened. His face, usually colorless, became impossibly grayer. "Understood, I'm on it. Thanks, Miss Sciuto." He snapped the phone shut, leaned down, and hauled Theodore up by an elbow. Pulling out some band cutters, he sliced through the plastic cuffs on the older man's wrists, then whistled for his fellow agents.

"Gentlemen, we have a situation. A serial rapist and murderer has taken hostage an Interpol agent. This man is now heading out to sea. We have _no_ jurisdiction, but I'm not about to stand aside and let another cop get killed by this bastard. Ted," he turned to his prisoner, "I have to borrow your boat." He turned back to the agents, who were already unlocking Ted's crew. "Guys, I can neither ask nor order you to come along…"

"Then don't bother, sir," said another agent in a flak jacket. "Just get on the damn boat!"

Fornell pulled out his cell phone. "Just one more call to make."

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Gibbs slammed his fist into the door; he shared DiNozzo's frustration and felt responsible at the same time. Hadn't he made a point of alienating Frost, just because she was a foreigner? Ziva's betrayal stung, but that wasn't Frost's doing. He'd been afraid to trust her, afraid to give his respect, and now she might pay for his suspicions—with her life.

"There has to be another way," he anguished. "Maybe we can tag her by satellite," he said, reaching for his phone.

"Tag. TAGS. That's it," McGee said, looking excited. "Tony, what kind of clothing is Brynja wearing? It looked new."

Tony was leaning over the railing, defeat obvious in his posture. "What's it matter, Probie?"

McGee slapped him in the chest, and Tony stood up in surprise and anger. **"Answer me, Fashion Bug! What is she wearing? **It looked new!"

Tony blinked, and shook himself. "It's a silk Naz'rani tunic, a leftover from their winter collection. Brynja found it on a clearance rack. Why? What's it…"

McGee was already dialing Abby. "High-end fashions all carry Smart Tags now: tiny computer chips used to track customer preferences and taste. They can be traced just like a GPS! If she used a credit card for the purchase…"

DiNozzo stood up straighter. "She did…"

"Then the store will have a record of the garment number and the tag it carries. Abby? McGee. I need you to do some tracking for me…"

Gibbs' cell went off in his pocket. "Yeah, Tobias," he said tiredly, then stood up straighter. "WHAT? Be right there!" He snapped his phone shut and turned to his agents. "Do it on the boat, McGee!"

"What?" McGee said, looking up, then ran in his boss' wake.

**TBC**


	29. Chapter 29

Gibbs' phone went off in his pocket, and he snatched it up. "Yeah, Leon, give me some good news."

"Afraid I can't, Gibbs. Normand is in interrogation, and he's laughing like a hyena. The Kobiyashi Moru is rigged to explode if they're caught, and they're heading for international waters as we speak. They've got quite a lead, but I'm on your six. One of the frigates is giving chase. Catch them and hold them if you can, but don't get yourselves blown up. Understand?"

"Affirmative. Gibbs out." He looked at Ted, who hand tensed around the wheel. "Can this thing go any faster?"

The old man was starting to sweat. "Only if we lighten the load. She isn't made for high- speed chases, you know."

"Anything we can throw overboard that we don't need," Tobias asked? "Me and my boys can start tossing stuff."

Ted nodded. "Furniture, cushions, appliances, they can all go. I would say cargo, but we may need it."

"What exactly are you hauling, Ted?" Gibbs asked.

The older man shrugged. "Just samples. Rifles, pistols, ammunition." He paused to fiddle with the controls. "Rocket propelled grenades. The rest is in a warehouse down by the dock," he rasped.

"Ted," Fornell looked at him curiously, "you ok?"

"I need my Digitalis and some aspirin," the old man admitted, "and somebody else needs to drive."

"I'm on it," said Gibbs, taking the wheel. "Tobias, get his meds, and send McGee in here. He's the closest thing to a doctor we have on board."

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

**_"Give it to her again, Daniel! Make her pay!"_** Smythe screamed. **_"Make her pay for what she did!"_**

The lash fell. Brynja convulsed as it cut into her flesh, her wrists bound with nylon rope and lashed to the mast. Her blouse had been torn off and was lying on the deck, along with most of her hair; Daniel had cut both off with a knife. Liam and Ivan swam into view.

_"Look at us, not them. Hold on. Help is on the way. You just have to hold on," _Liam told her.

_"Yell if you must. Scream the names of their victims," Ivan suggested._ Both men reached for her hands, and Brynja nodded. _"It will make them weak."_

"Elisa Prprch," Brynja yelled, "Lodi Zyrkowski!"

_"We're with you, you aren't alone. Just keep holding on."_

The lash fell.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"Gibbs?"

"Yeah, Tobias."

"We're running out of jurisdiction."

"Good thing I'm here then, huh Toby?" Ted's voice was weak, but clear.

"Whaddaya mean, Ted?"

He smiled. "I don't have a jurisdiction. Har, har, har."

"Save your strength, you old pirate. We're gonna need every hand."

Tony's shout rang out from the deck. "Mast off the port bow!"

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Hunt finished adjusting his fly, and then jogged easily to the main deck. The guests were just standing there, staring at the blood on the deck. One man had apparently been sick. "Wash up guys. Uncle Syngion is below decks, and the party is getting started." The older men just stared at him. "Come on, you knew what you were signing up for when you came on board! What's the problem?"

"Gatecrashers, mostly," said Tony. Hunt whirled around in time to see Tony's fist, just before it crashed into his face. Hunt staggered back in shock.

"Boss! Brynja's below!" Tony shouted. Fornell and his men swarmed the deck, while Gibbs and Tony ducked down the stairs.

POP POP POP came from below decks. Guns drawn, Gibbs and DiNozzo followed the hallway to a closed door, which they kicked in.

Syngion Smythe lay in a bloody mess on the floor, gasping for air and clawing at the knife sticking out of his throat. A cattle prod lay on the floor, its tip smoking. Smythe twitched once more, and then lay still. A few nylon threads hung from a hook in the ceiling, and a blood-soaked pair of women's trousers lay in a heap.

Their heads turned at a gurgling sound, and they found Sergeant D'Conyours lolling in his wheelchair, pushed up against a bulkhead; he had been shot in the chest. Both of them rushed over.

"D'Conyours! Sergeant! Ten Hut!" Gibbs snapped at the man, and his eyes dragged open. He smiled.

"_Bon_…to see you…Gibbs. Smythe…is he…"

"Yeah, he's dead. Knife to the throat. Who shot you?" Gibbs pressed, prying at the bloody jacket.

D'Conyours pushed his hands away, but weakly. "No time. My knife…" he pointed to his dead Director, "his gun…both times his gun…not Frost's gun…was never Frost's gun." He gasped, and blood started seeping from his mouth.

"Where's Brynja?" Tony shook him by the shoulder. "Where is she?"

D'Conyours gasped again, and focused blearing eyes on Tony. "Took Syngion's gun…went to kill Hunt…make an end…sorry I…couldn't help more…Gibbs," a bloody hand grabbed Gibbs' shirt, "my children…"

He nodded. "I'll tell them." The hand fell from his shirt, and D'Conyours died.

Gibbs looked at Tony. "There has to be another way up to the main deck." He studied the floor; bloody footprints were clearly evident. "You go back up to the deck, and I'll go aft."

"Boss, she doesn't know we're here…"

"And we don't know who else is down here. Be careful."

Tony nodded, and they separated.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

McGee leveled his gun at Hunt's chest. "You and your party, over to the port side and kneel, hands on your heads."

Most of the guests complied, but Hunt smirked and raised a hand to his nose, which bled. He looked at the blood on his hand and scowled. "I hope your department has good insurance. I'm suing your boss for abuse of power, assaulting a Navy officer, and assault and battery."

"Go right ahead. You're under arrest for the kidnapping and assault of an Interpol officer," McGee snapped.

Hunt smiled. "Kidnapping? I never kidnapped anybody. I'm here on a lunch date with my girlfriend, and I certainly didn't drag her here against her will. You know that!" He reached into a pocket and drew out a pack of cigarettes. "Mind if I smoke?"

"Choke on it," McGee snarled. "For a lunch date, you don't seem to have much food on board."

Hunt smirked, lit the cigarette, and took a drag. "This isn't that kind of lunch: just coffee and fireworks. Your wop playboy partner would understand, I think. We wanted some privacy for our 'nooner'."

McGee flushed with rage and his finger twitched on the trigger of his gun.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Brynja staggered down the hold towards the stern. She had seen another hatch while on deck, and hoped it had an accompanying ladder or stairwell. Her bare feet left bloody footprints, and as the ship rolled, she lurched into a bulkhead, leaving a bloody smear. "Liam, help me," she whispered.

_"You need cover, pup,"_ he shimmered in front of her. _"Try the sheets here; you don't want to get cold."_ He looked back over her bloody shoulder. _"I think you have a friend on board."_

"Robert's dead by now, boss." She wrapped herself up in a sheet, then continued down the passageway. "I'm out of friends here."

"Frost!" The urgent whisper came from behind her, and she whirled, gun at the ready.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Something clicked in McGee's mind. "You're a Trek fan."

"Yeah. So are you." Hunt shrugged.

"Want to bet there's a latex Vulcan mask in your quarters? With your DNA on it?"

"There is. I had it custom made. So?" Hunt took another puff. "What of it?"

"So Elsa and Sofia told us they were abused by someone dressed as a daemon. When Star Trek piloted in the 1960's, Roddenberry had Spock's ears airbrushed to eliminate the points. Know why?"

Hunt swallowed, but didn't answer.

"It was to keep conservative Bible-Belt Christians from freaking out at his appearance, to keep people from thinking he was a demon." He raised the gun to point between Hunt's eyes and snarled. "You worthless bastard!"

"So that was the piece I missed. Thank you, Agent McGee," said Brynja, stepping up from the aft hold. She pointed Syngion's gun at Hunt's head. "Hello, Daniel. Your uncle's dead."

He turned, snarling. "You bitch!"

"You say that like it's a bad thing, Daniel." She emerged further from the hold, and Gibbs followed her. Her head had been shaved bald, and she was wrapped toga-style in a bloody sheet. Her wrists were still tied with nylon cords, which cut into her flesh. She looked pale, but her eyes still held their ice. "I don't think this relationship is going to work out. Let's break up."

"Game's over, Hunt." Gibbs said quietly.

"It's NEVER over," he growled. He stared into Brynja's eyes. "You're MINE. You'll ALWAYS be mine. NOTHING you do can ever change that: NOT NOW!" He took another drag from his cigarette, and blew out a cloud of smoke. "You'll never be over me; I've seen to that! Who's going to want you now?" His eyes, fixed on her bloody toga, were manic. "No picket fences, no happily ever after, no 2.5 kids for you. _You're my girl!"_

Her eyes narrowed. "I'll make a point to marry and have at least four children. You won't dictate the rest of my life! Know something else? That night on the floor with Tony is looking better all the time. Maybe we'll pick up where we left off!" She caught Tony's eye. "If he's interested."

DiNozzo came up quietly behind McGee, eyes blazing with hatred at Hunt, but his words to Brynja were calm. "Sounds great, Brynja."

Hunt broke. "**You're ****_mine_**," he screamed. "Everything you _have_ is _mine_. Everything you _are_ is _mine_. **_You belong to me!_**Uncle had his fun with you; the rest belongs to _me_._ We had a deal!"_

"Enough fun and games," growled Gibbs. "Somebody cuff this bastard before I shoot him."

"Oh, no," Brynja insisted calmly. "Let him finish his cigarette first. I should give him that much."

Hunt leered, staring at Brynja's hips while he took another drag and blew out smoke. He motioned with the hand that held it. "Give me five minutes and I'll give you a…"

The cigarette exploded in his hand, and he fell screaming to the deck. At that moment, a large swell rocked the ship, knocking everyone off of their feet. Guns slid from surprised hands, and agents and perps rolled together as the ship bucked beneath them.

The swell ended, and Gibbs, DiNozzo, and McGee stood up to find Hunt holding Brynja by the throat with his good hand, while his burned one clawed at the top of her makeshift toga.

"I did promise your wop dog he could watch," he hissed into her ear.

"The show is _over_, skri'msli," she growled, slamming her bare head into his nose. She grabbed his burned hand by the pinky finger and twisted, HARD, until his grip loosened. Whipping around behind him, she circled his neck with the length of rope still attached to her wrists, and started to pull the garrote shut. "This is where Grendel _loses_."

Hunt bent over, pulling Brynja up onto his back like a child, and grabbed her arm. She continued to squeeze her garrote, and his eyes bugged out. "No, Valkyrie," he gasped, "you can't win. You're mine. _MINE. Forever!"_

He lurched forward, clawing at the rope around his neck, carrying Brynja like a child playing piggyback. Staggering under her weight, he lurched to the side of the side of the ship and fell overboard.

Gibbs tore off his shoes and vest, and followed in a swan dive.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"MAN OVERBOARD!" McGee screamed. Grabbing a life preserver, he rushed to the deck side and peered over. "BOSS! BRYNJA!"

"Cut a lifeboat loose!" Fornell bellowed from the topdeck. "DiNozzo! McGee! Make sure those rings are secured to the ship, and throw them in!"

A horn sounded from the west. Looking over their shoulders, a Navy frigate ploughed into view, heading straight for them.

Fornell reached for the radio.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

The salt water stung Gibbs' eyes as he sliced into the water, and at first he couldn't see either Frost or Hunt; the water was too cloudy. _*Blood*,_ he thought, _*it'll draw every shark for miles.*_

He followed the puffy trail down ten feet, then came back up for air. Refilling his lungs, he looked around and saw something splash, and re-dove.

He found them only six feet down. Frost and Hunt were still fighting, she trying to garrote him and he trying to shake her loose and pull off her sheet. Her face was a mask of pain and determination: his of manic hate. Blood from her back clouded the water around them. Dark shapes appeared in the water below.

Hunt twisted free of the garrote and kicked for the surface. Brynja's nails tore along the length of his arms and into his burned hand, but he threw her off in desperation and kicked her. Air 'whooshed' out of her lungs, and he saw her start to sink. Kicking her one more time, he headed for the surface.

_"That's my partner you're leaving behind,"_ a cold voice said, and an old man with silver-red hair swam into view.

Hunt started, and kicked away, trying to put distance between him and the apparition so he could reach the surface.

_"You were never man enough for her anyway, boy,"_ said another, this time with a Russian accent.

_"Remember me?"_ The whisper was soft, almost like the water sloshing in his ears. _"Remember us?"_

Hunt yelled in surprise, forgetting he was underwater, and lost his air supply. Thrashing wildly, his head finally broke the surface of the water, and he filled his lungs again. A life-ring floated nearby, and he grabbed onto it. The ship was in sight. _*I WIN*,_ he thought, starting to swim again, when he felt something digging into his ankles. _*Brynja's nails*__**,**_ he thought, and turned to kick at her again.

_"Remember me?"_ The whisper came again, this time from a pale woman with a large smile and flowing red hair. He saw other women below her. She reached for his feet, her arms and nails impossibly long. _"Remember us?"_

He kicked at the apparition again.

The shark turned aside, its armored skin scraping him, but another quickly took its place.

Hunt looked once into eyes colder than Brynja's, and screamed.

**TBC**


	30. Chapter 30

Gibbs saw Hunt squirm free of Brynja's garrote, saw him kick her in the chest, saw her start to sink. He let the murderer go and kicked harder, trying to reach Brynja to drag her back to the surface. She had started to slip down when he reached her, and her eyes, once so cold, held the peace of someone accepting death.

Gibbs grabbed her by the makeshift toga and embraced her tiny form. She tried to push him away, but weakly, and he growled under the sea. Grabbing her by the back of her bare head, he molded his mouth over hers and gave her half of his air. Together, they kicked for the surface.

_"Wow, you never kissed me like that, Gibbs. I'm almost jealous,"_ Kate joked, appearing in the water beside him. She waved off an approaching shark, and it left them to join in the feed next to the ship.

_"We've got your back,"_ said Auten, swirling into Gibbs view as well, _"take care of my partner."_

Their heads broke water. Gibbs held Brynja by the waist, cradling her head back against his shoulder, and waved at the lifeboat carrying DiNozzo and McGee.

_"Nice job, by the way," _said Ivan,_ "for a Chihuahua!"_

"Put a sock in it, Ivan," Gibbs muttered. Brynja arched her head back to look at him, her eyes questioning. "Yeah, Frost, I heard. 'Salright," he said, stroking her head.

The lifeboat reached them. Distantly, they heard Hunt scream one more time, then there was nothing but splashing.

"Svi'kari," Brynja whispered. Gibbs looked at her, uncomprehending.

"'Traitor'," she explained, leaning her head back on his shoulder, "and 'shark'."

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Abby was waiting for them when they reached the ER; Talon and Brown were with her. Paramedics wheeled Brynja in face-down on a gurney, covered in a sheet that was already stained with blood. Abby grabbed her by one hand and squeezed, and one blue eye opened and shut. Talon paled. Turning to Brown, he handed her a camera.

"Do it," he rasped, "and don't miss a thing." Nodding, she followed Frost into Trauma 1.

DiNozzo and McGee appeared beside him, and soon after a still-dripping Gibbs, followed by Ducky.

"Hunt?" Talon asked.

"Dead," said Gibbs.

"Good," Talon nodded.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"Brynja," Abby whispered, "can you hear me? Talk to me, hon."

Nurses quickly stripped the bloody sheet away from Brynja's back, exposing the damage left by Hunt's lash. Abby looked up, and choked back a sob as Brown snapped detailed photos.

"I'm finished," she said. Pausing to lay a hand on Brynja's head, she bent over her ear. "I'll be in the waiting room, Bry. You aren't alone. We're here for you." Hefting the camera, she rejoined Talon.

Abby grabbed a stool and sat at Brynja's head, gently stroking her bare scalp. "Ohmigod, Brynja, I'm so sorry!"

The doctor stepped up and started examining Brynja's torn flesh. "One unit of blood, one unit of plasma. We need to debride and close. I want some number 3 silk," he paused to look down, "and some soft restraints. Go."

"Abby," Brynja whispered, dragging her eyes open.

She sniffed. "I'm here."

"Don't let them tie me down." The plea was soft, but urgent.

Abby nodded and squeezed her hand, then stepped over to the Doctor's side.

"Doctor?" He turned to her, frowning.

"I don't normally allow family and friends in Trauma procedures, Miss. You will get in the way. I need you to step out so we can work…"

"Please don't tie her down."

"Excuse me?" The doctor was incredulous.

"Don't tie Brynja down. See her wrists? Those are ligature marks; she was _tied_ and lashed. If you restrain her for the procedure…"

"I can't afford such sympathy, Miss. I _can't_ sedate her for this, and she has to hold still. If she doesn't, we'll hurt her even worse. I'm sorry," he looked directly into her tear-filled eyes, "I truly am."

"Wait. Just wait one minute! That's all I ask." She returned to Brynja's hand and squeezed it. "I'll be right back." Standing up, she rushed out the Trauma room doors and down the hallway.

Nearly hysterical, she ran into the crowd that had gathered in the waiting room: Director Vance, Gibbs, Ducky, DiNozzo, McGee, Fornell, Talon, and Brown. DiNozzo grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Abby! What happened? Did Brynja…" The worry in his face choked off his question.

Abby shook her head. "She's alive; the doctor is going to suture her back. But guys," tears showed in her eyes, "he says they have to tie her down, and…"

"The hell they are," huffed Gibbs.

Abby led a small contingent back into Trauma One: the still-soaked Gibbs, Talon, and DiNozzo. Grabbing a towel, Abby covered Brynja's derriere and walked to her head. DiNozzo wrapped his arms around her feet and turned his back, while Gibbs and Talon each grabbed a hand.

"Look at me," Abby said, taking Brynja's face in her hands, "look at us. We're here with you."

"I must protest!" The doctor fumed.

"Noted," clipped Talon, "now get to work!"

Stitching took nearly twenty minutes. When all but Abby had left Brynja's bedside, Gibbs pulled the doctor aside.

"Run a rape kit," he murmured.

The doctor nodded grimly.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Halley sat in NCIS Interrogation, her face stoic, arms across her chest. She didn't move as Director Vance walked in, followed by Lieutenant Talon. Talon tossed a plastic bag onto the table. It held a bloody sheet, soaked with salt water. Talon took the seat across from her.

"Go ahead, pick it up," he said evenly.

She did, looking the bag over without opening it, and frowned. "What is this?"

"That's the sheet that held Frost's body when we pulled her out of the sea," he replied. She paled. He removed the bag from the table and started laying down color photographs. The ship's deck covered in blood. Piles of Brynja's hair. The bloody lash. "Recognize these?"

Her eyes widened, and she gagged. "No," she whispered. "I never…"

"This is your work," he insisted, slapping down more photos: Brynja's shaved head, her torn back, and piles of bloody clothing. "You supported Director Smythe so he could do this."

"I didn't know…I swear…" she shook her head, "it wasn't supposed to go down like this…" she started to turn green.

"**DON'T PLEAD IGNORANCE WITH ME!"** Talon roared. **"I DON'T WANT YOUR EXCUSES! YOU TOOK MONEY TO BETRAY ANOTHER AGENT! WHAT DID YOU THINK WOULD HAPPEN?"**

Halley shook, reaching out to touch one of the photos. One showed a barely-open eye: Brynja looked accusingly at the camera.

Talon slapped a pen and a pad of paper in front of her. "We need the rest of the rabbit-hole, Alice. Director Smythe is _dead_. How many others did he compromise?"

She bit her lip and picked up the pen.

Director Vance caught Talon's eye, and nodded.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Ted glared at the newcomer to the ER. "Late as usual, I see."

His stepbrother glared back. "Where is she?"

"She's being moved out of Trauma One and into isolation. She has a friend with her." Ted reached up to restrain the man. "She needs rest and quiet. You can see her in the morning. One more night in five years won't make that much difference."

"She's my daughter."

"That didn't keep you from leaving, or from leaving her with me when she was a kid, and you _had_ to go to work." Ted stood up, glowering a little at the slighter man. "She knocks herself out for a reason, and I think it's to get _your_ attention. This time _she nearly died_. What does she have to do to be good enough for you?"

There was no answer beyond a removal of the restraining hand. Brynja's father approached the nurse's station, spoke to the attending nurse, and then sprinted down the hall.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

"Hell of a day," said McGee. "Think Brynja'll be ok?"

"Eventually. Where did Director Vance and Talon go?" Tony asked.

"They're confronting Halley, trying to close down the cell Smythe formed," Brown told them. "We have to make sure the house is clean. We have most of his agents in custody, but not the ones posing as EMS-the ones that evacuated the Director's 'body' from the club a day or so ago." She sighed and massaged her temples. "God, I feel awful. He was so many steps ahead of us."

A man sped past them: slight but muscular, his hair cropped short. Tony started.

"What the hell is _he_ doing here," he growled, and started after the man. He caught him just as he was about to walk into Brynja's room. "You got a problem, Kort? The psych ward is on the third floor; this lady's in isolation."

Trent Kort tore his arm from Tony's grasp. "Back off, DiNozzo! This doesn't concern you!"

Tony's face tightened into a snarl. "The hell it doesn't!"

Kort grabbed Tony by his jacket and shoved him into the wall. "Stay out of my way!"

Tony tensed, and one hand closed into a fist. He had drawn it back when a firm hand came down on it, and another held him at the shoulder.

"Tony," Gibbs said quietly, "let him go."

"You mean that…" Kort had disappeared into Brynja's room, and they could hear her start to sob. "But she said her father was an American."

"You ever lie to a girl to get what you wanted, Tony?" Gibbs' stare was uncomfortably familiar. "You and Kort might have more in common than you think. Don't hold family ties against an agent. I did," he said softly, "and it damned near killed her."

Tony thumped his head against a wall. "I need a drink."

"My place," offered Gibbs. He turned with DiNozzo to walk away, then turned back to McGee and Brown. "I have enough for everybody. What, you need an invitation? Come on!"

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS**

Tony and Tim stared at the empty desk, now cleared of any items belonging to the Interpol agents they had become familiar with. It looked oddly forlorn.

"So, have you heard from Ziva?" Tony asked cautiously.

"Nope. You?"

"Nope." He paused. "We gotta fill that chair."

"You want to talk to Gibbs?"

"Somebody has to."

Gibbs walked into the bullpen, and Tony and Tim both approached him. "Boss, we've been thinking," Tony started. "We need another member on this team."

Gibbs shrugged. "I'm working on it."

"It's been a month, Boss," said Tim.

"And you still haven't…" Tony started again, but Gibbs stopped him. Grabbing a stack of profiles, he slammed them down on the empty desk.

"Fine. You do it," he said. "I'm getting coffee."

Tony actually seemed pleased. "Ok, first we need to separate out all the females."

"Those are all the female applicants, Tony," gruffed Gibbs.

"You're having Tony interview a bunch of women? Some people would call that a lapse in judgement…but of course I would never say that about you," McGee opinioned.

"Fine," grouched Gibbs, "you both do it." He glared warningly at DiNozzo. "No casting couch."

**The End.**


End file.
